Harry Potter and the Inconvenient Condition
by twistyguru
Summary: Harry Potter wanted to get as far from England as he possibly could where the locals spoke English. Jacob Black wanted to wash his clothes. When the two met in the laundromat, something happened. Companion to 'HP and the Obstinate Elders'. SLASH and MPREG, if that bothers you, DON'T READ. Harry Potter/Jacob Black, AU, no spoilers; M for language, subject matter.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Harry Potter wanted to get as far from England as he possibly could where the locals spoke English, and that was Forks, Washington. Jacob Black only wanted to wash his clothes so he wouldn't get his Rabbit filthy. When the two met in the laundromat, something happened. This is a companion piece to "Harry Potter and the Obstinate Elders", but it doesn't really matter which one you read first. Harry/Jacob, AU, please pay attention to the warning.

**WARNING: contains SLASH and eventually MPREG. If these bother you in any way, please stop reading here.**

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Harry Potter, Jacob Black or any other characters in either the Harry Potter or Twilight series. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this work. This is done purely as an homage to both worlds, because they've given so much enjoyment to so many, and because the plot bunny wouldn't go away until I did this.

This story has been completed and will be posted by chapters over the next few days.

**CHAPTER 1**

"Really, Potter! Only you," Draco Malfoy looked down at his school nemesis and shook his head. "How you manage to find yourself in these situations is quite beyond me," he drawled.

Harry Potter-Black smiled up at the blond pureblood and rubbed one hand over his extremely large abdomen. "Well, Draco, when two people love each other very much, they…."

"Oh, shut it, Potter! It's not like I haven't spent the last year as your own personal potions factory," Draco snapped. Harry didn't respond to Draco's statement, because it was essentially the truth.

When Harry and his husband Jacob Potter-Black had gone to Paris to investigate male fertility magics, they'd discovered Draco there, pursuing his Potions Mastery in the City of Lights. To Harry's great surprise, once Draco learned of the Potter-Black's intentions, he'd announced that he would personally brew the necessary potions.

Harry had initially been reluctant to trust the Slytherin, until he learned that Draco was desperate for a topic for his Master's project. A bit of asking around had reassured Harry (and more importantly, his husband) that Draco was indeed up to the task. The arrangement they'd worked out, complete with wizard's oath given freely by Draco to do his utmost and avoid any and all harm to Harry and his 'spawn', had been more than satisfactory for all concerned. Draco had smirked when he said 'spawn', and then added 'and any additional Potter spawnlings which I will be tasked to inflict upon a poor, suffering world', to Harry and Jacob's surprise.

"What? I know you, Potter; you won't be content with just the one. You'll be breeding your own Quidditch team, mark my word. And, of course, you'll not settle for anything less than the best, which is me." Draco's sniff of disdain only served to fuel Harry's giggles. Even Jacob, by that time used to the blonde's snarky manner, couldn't be too angry at the 'spawn' remark.

Draco had already gotten one publication out of the process (in the International Journal of Potions Research, no less!), and was certain that a second paper—detailing the successful delivery of a healthy child—would more than satisfy his Master's committee.

For Harry, it had been something of a blessing as well, because he'd had an unusual reaction to the first series of potions. The cocktail had indeed worked as intended, causing Harry's body to adapt to the demands of pregnancy. However, his libido had skyrocketed!

Had Jacob not been a shapeshifter, with all the strength and stamina that implied, he'd likely not have survived those first few, hectic days. Fortunately for him, Draco had been able to develop an acceptable workaround for the ashwinder liver in the original formulation (his first paper detailed that particular complication, as well as his solution). Of course, very little could protect Harry and Jacob from a good deal of ribbing from the Pack about those few days, when Harry basically kept Jacob a prisoner in his own bedroom.

That Harry had been too 'distracted' to maintain the usual silencing charms on their bedroom caused a few comments from Billy Black, as well. Fortunately, Billy was too fond of his son-in-law to do more than a bit of good-natured ribbing about 'well, you're certainly giving my grandson a good start'.

The same couldn't be said about the Pack's reaction to the first time Harry and Jacob hadn't gone quite far enough into the woods before, well, you know. Even with Draco's adjustments to the potions, Harry's libido continued to be elevated, and frequently would flare far beyond the normally high level he and Jacob typically enjoyed. Harry developed the habit of grabbing Jacob, apparating them somewhere into the middle of Canada (Jacob wasn't quite sure where, and wasn't about to ask), transfiguring a mattress, then assaulting the Quileute for all he was worth.

After a few hours spent vomiting slugs, Paul and Quil learned to keep their mouths shut when the pair reappeared from their little jaunts 'away'. Of course, it could have just been jealously talking, since Jacob invariably returned with a satisfied smirk plastered across his face.

If Harry had any complaints about Draco being involved with his pregnancy, it was that Malfoy had joined the legion of people who decided that Harry was not only pregnant but also fragile as fine bone china. The mother-henning that he'd been subjected to had nearly driven him spare, even though he appreciated the thoughts behind it. Most of the time….

"Draco, you don't have to be here," Harry smirked at the blond. "Terry, Poppy and Carlisle can manage things, I imagine."

Draco's sniff was his only response to such an asinine statement. Across the room, Terry Boot—now _Healer_ Boot, late of St. Mungo's—Poppy Pomfrey and Carlisle Cullen all hid their smiles at the antics of the two young men.

Terry and Carlisle busied themselves with preparations for the delivery, while Poppy put the final touches on her gear. The trio had already worked out the division of labor that would best serve both father and infant: Terry and Carlisle would manage the delivery by caesarian section, while Poppy would 'take the handoff' once the baby was successfully removed from Harry's 'womb'. Initially, only Terry, Draco and Poppy had planned to be present, but given the close relationship that had developed between the Potter-Blacks and Cullens, Carlisle had gently and reasonably laid out his reasons for being there. In the end, Harry and Jacob had not only agreed, but Jacob told his father that he felt much better having a 'real doctor'—vampire or not—at the delivery of his first son.

Those who didn't know the Pack and the Cullen Coven might have been surprised at the degree of cooperation and mutual respect that existed between the two. Granted, it had been hard-won, and not without the occasional misunderstanding or outright knock-down-drag-out fight. Still, the living room of Harry and Jacob's house was currently filled not only with shapeshifters, wizards and witches, but also a family of vampires—all of them anxiously awaiting the birth.

Harry tried to relax, rubbing his hand once more over his distended belly. "It won't be long now, little one," he whispered. The faint pulse of magic he felt back was reassuring, even though he knew that everything was as 'normal' as a male pregnancy could ever be.

Exhaling slowly, Harry let his thoughts drift. He'd certainly come a long way from Number 4, Privet Drive and that wretched cupboard under the stairs! A tiny smirk appeared on his face as he briefly thought about what Petunia and Vernon, not to mention Dudders, would say if they could see him now! He was well and truly a freak, and couldn't be happier with how his life had turned out.

After the war, Harry found himself at loose ends. The wizarding public in Britain had been suffocating in their adulation of the Boy Who Won. He found himself unable to leave his flat, even to go shopping for groceries, because of the crowds that mobbed him. It had been his solicitor who'd been responsible for Harry leaving England, since it was Eddie Spindle who found the house in Forks.

"…and here is a list of Black properties outside Britain," the tubby little solicitor said, handing a parchment to Harry.

The pair were in the conference room in Spindle's office. The long table was littered with files, loose parchment and a few tomes. This was the second day that Harry'd spent in the room as he and his solicitor tried to make sense of his inheritance. Or, to be more precise, his _inheritances._

Harry had been shocked and saddened to find out that Dumbledore had drained the Potter vaults dry, both during the first war and afterwards. James Potter had borne the brunt of supporting not only the Marauders, but also funding the Order. After the Potter's death, Albus had named himself Harry's magical guardian, and continued to use the Potter vaults to fund a number of his 'little projects'—including a number of Hogwarts expenses and scholarships. By the time Harry found out that he'd paid for every Weasley since Charlie to attend Hogwarts, he was too numb to more than nod.

The Headmaster had also provided 'retainers' and 'consulting fees' to a number of people over the years; funds that Eddie Spindle suspected had been used to counter Lucius Malfoy's 'contributions'. The total amounts were staggering, but because Dumbledore had frequently drawn out large sums that were handed out liberally (and without receipts, obviously), tracking down the money proved to be impossible.

Dumbledore had even sold off most of the Potter Family properties, including Potter Manor, then spent most of that money, too. The list was at once ludicrous and infuriating. Among the more 'interesting' items that could be accounted for was the cost of the Triwizard Tournament—to get the other schools to agree to participate, Dumbledore had to cover their expenses—and Harry very nearly destroyed the office with uncontrolled magic when he learned that _his_ money had paid for the Tournament that had almost gotten him killed, as well as Voldemort resurrected!

It was only because of the Goblin's standard trust contracts that Dumbledore hadn't been able to touch Harry's trust vault. Even then, there was evidence from Wizengamot transcripts that Dumbledore had tried, and failed on several occasions to access that vault, as well. Of course, once he thought about it, Harry realized that it made sense—in a weird, Dumbledorianesque way. After all, the Headmaster hadn't expected him to survive his final encounter with Voldemort, what with having basically no proper training for such a fight and all. No, Harry was supposed to be the willing sacrifice offered up on the altar of the Greater Good. Since dead men rarely needed possessions, and the Ministry would have just claimed all of Harry's inheritance anyway, why not go ahead and dispose of it for that same Greater Good, before the Ministry could get their grubby little hands on it?

Harry really didn't care (much) about the money; he had all he needed and then some from the Black estate. What truly hurt—aside from the betrayal by the Old Coot—was the loss of the properties. He'd grown up not knowing about his family, and having the old Manor (with it's dozens of portraits and generations of Potter bric-a-brack) would have given him some connection to his ancestors.

Instead, he had a few boxes of trinkets, a handful of paintings (the rest having been either destroyed or sold), a small sack of galleons, and precious little else.

It helped somewhat when Eddie Spindle's partner, A.P.B. Gallsworthy—wizarding barrister without peer and 'Polly' to his friends—was able to claim the property and vaults of all the Death Eaters that had been Marked for Harry. It was an old law, but still on the books: by accepting Voldemort's Mark, the Death Eaters had essentially sold themselves into slavery to him, in the eyes of the law. Since Harry had defeated him, all of Riddle's possessions, as well as the possessions of his followers, had reverted to Harry by right of conquest. To the victor, the spoils, and all that….

The Wizengamot and Ministry tried to block that particular bit of legal payback, as they had planned to seize it all…until Polly Gallsworthy 'let it slip' that Harry had Dumbledore's old journals, with lists of who got how much, and when. Combined with the stories of how the Chief Warlock had looted an orphan's birthright, those lists would have made a very interesting series of articles in the _Daily Prophet_.

The Ministry agreed to take a fifteen percent cut for 'reparations', and the Wizengamot concurred. Polly Gallsworthy claimed to be offended by even that much, but privately laughed with Eddie Spindle and Harry that evening that he would have been satisfied to give the greedy buggers twenty five percent. What made it even more humorous was that 'Dumbledore's journals'—at least, any journals with the details of Dumbledore's bribery—were a complete fabrication.

When Harry'd protested the tactic, Polly had just smiled and gently explained things to him. "Harry," he'd said. "Normally, I'd agree with you. But, everyone knows what was going on, and if they all weren't as corrupt as corrupt could be; they would have called my bluff. That they didn't tells me they couldn't risk the possibility that Dumbledore really did keep records like that, and that I'd go to the press with them. So, since I'm only reclaiming for you some of what was taken and cheating a bunch of crooked politicians, I don't feel badly about it."

Harry admitted that it did have a certain poetic justice to it. Also, he knew just where most of that money would have gone—into the pockets of the very people that had made his life so difficult these past years. So, he ruthlessly suppressed his initial reluctance, and took the money. It almost made up for what Dumbledore had looted from him over the years.

As partial recompense for that looting, McGonagall had allowed Harry to have all of Dumbledore's things. She'd been none too happy to find out just what her mentor and employer had been up to, and since Albus' quarters hadn't been touched after his death, she basically opened the door, told him to help himself, and then stalked off (Harry suspected in search of a bottle of good Scotch).

It had turned out to be one of the best things that had ever happened to Harry at Hogwarts. Not only did Dumbledore have a tremendous library of rare tomes (Harry wondered just how many his money had paid for) and trinkets, but in a well-protected chest Harry found a rather plain reddish rock.

He shouldn't have been surprised that Dumbledore kept the Philosopher's Stone, but he was. Even better, there were three vials of the Elixir of Life, a pouch of small golden cones (Harry didn't know this at the time, but he would later learn they looked suspiciously like lead fishing weights) and a sheaf of hand-written notes describing everything Dumbledore knew about the Stone.

He'd told no one about his find except Nicholas Flammel, to whom he'd written a short note and sent along the vials of Elixir of Life. Flammel had answered him, thanked him for the vials, and told him to keep the Stone…just keep sending a few vials of Elixir every year or so. Apparently, that Flammel and his wife were 'putting their affairs in order' because they were ready to pass on was yet another of Dumbledore's lies. It was the beginning of a regular correspondence between the two wizards, and Harry found himself enjoying talking with the ancient wizard immensely.

Harry'd also found Dumbledore's journals, and made the mistake of mentioning this to Hermione, Ron and Ginny. This, of course, had resulted in the entire wizarding world knowing about them within days. While it had helped Polly Gallsworthy's little ruse _vis a vis_ the Death Eater's estates, it had also brought a considerable amount of pressure on Harry to turn them over to the Ministry 'for study'.

Harry'd refused. Since everything he'd recovered from Dumbledore had been locked safely away in Number 12 Grimmauld Place the day he'd found it, there was precious little the Ministry could do. Naturally, the Wizengamot got involved.

Polly Gallsworthy had little difficulty in convincing that august body that a closed session was in order. Once the doors were sealed, he'd casually reminded them about the 'journals', then he and Eddie Spindle laid out the bare bones of the ruin of the Potter estate. With a few choice comments about how badly it would reflect on all of those present if it were ever discovered that the Chief Warlock had bled an orphan's fortune away, Gallsworthy convinced them to accept a few token books—books which Harry had already copied, or had duplicates of in the Black library—as well as his assurance that the bulk of the journals had been spelled to 'destroy themselves' when they were removed from Hogwarts.

After a few rounds of 'wink, wink, nudge, nudge', the matter was declared closed…with the understanding that the journals would never see the light of day.

So, Harry found himself the proud owner of one of the finest magical libraries in Great Britain, several full vaults, a source of virtually unlimited gold, numerous properties, and hordes of worshipful fans.

He'd have traded it all in a heartbeat to have his godfather back.

Worst of all were the expectations. Harry found it irritating in the extreme that the question was not what he would do when he joined the Ministry, but when. 'Everyone knew' that Harry would join the Ministry, either as an Auror (the odds-on favorite) or as a Special Assistant to the Minister, and there were at least three active betting pools running that Harry knew about. After about a week of this nonsense, he'd had enough.

"There are Black properties outside of England?" Harry asked. "You mean, like on the Continent?" He'd heard Sirius mention a house on the French Rivera, but that was about all he knew about.

"Actually, that would be several continents", Eddie Spindle deadpanned. "The Blacks believed in having plenty of places available to 'vacation' in," he went on while Harry rolled his eyes, "in case things ever became too…interesting for them here in England. And, there have been more than a few members of the family who needed to…see the world, as it were."

"Right before the enraged husbands arrived, no doubt," Harry snickered, at which his solicitor just shrugged. The history of the Blacks was nothing if not colorful.

"Not just husbands," Polly Gallsworthy grinned. "I suspect that if we looked hard enough into the family history, there may have been a witch or two that needed to be somewhere else, in short order."

"No bet," Harry laughed. "Now, let's see that list. Where's the farthest I can get from London, where the locals speak English?" He really didn't want to be somewhere he didn't speak the language. Translation charms were all well and good, but he'd heard using them long term could be unpleasant.

"The farthest I can get from London that speaks English" turned out to be either the middle of the Australian outback, or Forks, Washington, USA. Of the two, Harry finally settled on Forks because (a) it already had a house, and he'd had quite enough of wizarding tents, thank you very much and (b) it wasn't part of the British Commonwealth. He wasn't quite sure how much Australian magicals followed events back in the mother country, and didn't really care to find out. He did know that the Americans had monitored Voldemort's second rise and had been on the verge of stepping in…but then immediately went back to minding their own business as soon as they found out the Dark Lord (this week's version, at least) had been dealt with. Harry found himself greatly appreciating their attitude of 'fine, it's dealt with, good bye'; it was almost certain the magicals across the Atlantic wouldn't make too much of a fuss over the Boy Who Won. He'd probably get the same treatment from the Aussies, but…wizarding tents, until he could get something better built? Thank you, no.

He'd actually managed to be out of England before anyone other than Eddie and Polly knew he was gone. With Winky's help, he'd packed up Number 12 Grimmauld Place (he'd be damned if he'd leave anything behind for the Ministry to get, Black family wards or not), shrunk everything down, boxed it up, shipped it out and sealed the house.

While Harry and Winky were doing this, Kreacher appeared and went into a rant about 'filthy half-bloods stealing Mistresses' things'. Winky had stopped what she was doing, grabbed the demented old elf by the ear, and disappeared. It was the last time Harry saw or heard from Kreacher, and Winky never mentioned it again.

Harry did take time that evening to thank Winky once again for being such a good friend. Typically, Winky blushed, scolded Master Harry Potter Sir for being too good to her, then popped away.

The Black house in Forks turned out to be almost exactly what Harry was looking for. It was on the western outskirts of town, well back from the road, and the sizable property ran all the way to the La Push Reservation to the west, as well as a good distance north and south, as well. It was isolated enough so that Harry didn't have any worries about his neighbors spying on him, but close enough that he could easily drive or apparate into town at need.

He'd learned to drive before leaving Britain at a two-day crash course in Birmingham. It'd only taken him a few minutes to realize that in America, he would have to drive on the 'wrong' side of the road. Well, that explained why the steering wheel on his new car was on the wrong side, at any rate. And, he'd been very pleased at how nice the locals were in helping him get his Washington State driver's license. There'd been none of the adulation he would have suffered at the Ministry, and the pamphlets he'd been given had made passing the written test easy enough.

He thought the young lady at the local motor vehicle Department might have been flirting with him—she'd all but cooed over his accent—but he wasn't sure. He realized that he was totally clueless about things like dating and such, and eventually wanted to learn just what was what, but his breakup with Ginny (and disastrous not-relationship with Cho) had left him a bit unenthusiastic about the whole dating thing.

The only problem with the Forks house was that it had been built shortly after the turn of the 20th century by a distant cousin who'd died under mysterious circumstances, and had been unlived in for almost that long. While Harry certainly didn't mind the ancient gas stove, the gaslights were just not on. Remodeling with extreme prejudice became the first order of business.

Typically, the remodel turned into its own version of hell on earth. Harry found out the hard way that no remodel or rebuild is ever easy. After the third 'new' problem was discovered (which required a complete re-wiring of the place), Harry finally gave up, packed a bag, and moved into a motel until the job could be done.

The worst part of the motel, from his point of view, was that he couldn't very well let Winky take his laundry to the laundromat. So, that was something he had to do for himself. It wasn't exactly new to him—laundry was one of his regular chores at Durzkaban—but the laundromat itself was a new experience. Boring, yes; but Harry was still very much at a place where 'boring' was exactly what he was looking for.

That's why, one fine Tuesday afternoon, Harry Potter was doing his laundry when his life changed forever.

* * *

Jacob Black was having a terrible day.

He'd come into Forks to pick up several things, and was at the last stop on his list when his beloved VW Rabbit…died. Fortunately, he'd been in front of the hardware store at the time, and had easily pushed the small car into the parking lot beside the store. The store had the parts he'd needed for a temporary repair; well, that, and the tools he carried in the back. Sadly, after nearly an hour in the rain and the mud fixing the Rabbit, he'd been covered in grease and mud to the point that he really didn't want to get back in the car. Since the hardware store was right across the street from the local laundromat, he'd decided to stop in for a quick wash.

He'd used up the last change in his pockets throwing everything he was wearing except his underwear into the washing machine. Even his sneakers went in, after he'd knocked off as much mud as he could. Then, rather than standing around in just his boxers, he'd gone into the men's room to wash up as best he could.

He'd gotten most of the grime and filth off—getting the grease out from under his fingernails would have to wait—and was feeling much better when he came out. Tossing his clothes into a dryer, he'd slipped his last dollar into the machine and settled down to wait. He found a car magazine less than twenty years old to read, and another one to put across his lap for modesty.

Jacob wasn't that concerned for himself—hanging around the Pack had destroyed any nudity taboo he'd had, and he wasn't at all ashamed of his body—but getting arrested for public indecency wasn't something he wanted to risk. He thought Chief Swan would cut him some slack, especially if Jacob explained the situation to him, but Jacob really didn't want to tempt fate.

The laundromat had been empty when he'd come in (he probably wouldn't have stripped so casually had it been full of women and little kids), but there'd been a single young man there when he'd come out of the restroom. The man didn't look to be much more than a teen, if that. He was short, scrawny, and pale, with messy black hair as dark as Jacob's own. He was wearing ugly glasses, which made Jacob immediately think 'geek'. The young man—boy, really—was loading up three machines at once. Jacob noticed that once, something had gotten away from him, but the boy caught it with remarkable speed before the errant article of clothing could hit the ground.

Since both of them were observing the unwritten rule of laundromats and ignoring each other's presence, Jacob didn't say anything. He just kept on reading his magazine, and sneaking glances at the boy occasionally when he thought he could get away with it. There was something about him the shifter couldn't explain, some feeling…it was almost like his wolf wanted to come out and play with the boy, but of course that was ridiculous! Not to mention, that would get Jacob in sooooo much trouble with Sam and the rest of the Pack, not to mention the Elders.

Jacob watched the boy finish loading up his machines, feeding them the required coins, then sat down to read a newspaper. Jacob glanced at the timer on his dryer—he had another few minutes to go—and went back to his magazine. He hoped he'd be able to get dressed and get back to the Rez before long.

* * *

Harry congratulated himself on successfully interpreting the instructions on the three washing machines. His recent experiences had driven home the old saw about Britain and America being countries separated by a common language, but the instructions had obviously been written for a brain-damaged three year old. Plus, the pictures had been a great help.

After growing up with the British, then Wizarding monetary systems, he'd made the transition to the American decimal-based system easily. Once Harry learned just exactly what 'pennies', 'nickels', 'dimes' and 'quarters' were (and that a quarter was literally one quarter of a dollar), he'd been fine. After that, he hadn't bothered with the conversion rates; he'd gotten a wad of cash in bills of various sizes from the bank, and hadn't worried about it since. He still had a bit of a problem with pulling out too-large bills on occasion, but that was improving with experience.

He'd already gotten something of a reputation as a rich eccentric in Folks because of his tendency to buy a candy bar and soft drink with a $100 bill, but he was learning. After all, he was 'filthy stinking rich' (he'd heard that phrase on the telly and thought it was funny, since gold didn't carry odors worth a damn), and he could always make more. It'd been useful when he was arranging the refurbishing of his house, although he suspected he'd been overcharged by a goodly bit. Still, it was a minor problem, so he ignored it.

Harry'd been doing a lot of that lately; ignoring minor problems, that is. After years of always having some huge crisis hanging over him, it was a great relief to just let the little things go. Moving to Forks had let him begin to do that with a vengeance. What he couldn't fix with magic (or let Winky fix), he bought. What he couldn't buy just then, he ordered, and had it delivered. If it couldn't be ordered (and thus far, he hadn't found _anything_ in America that he couldn't order by catalogue), then he supposed he didn't really need it after all.

As outlooks went, it was both refreshing and wonderful, and Harry was enjoying it tremendously. Even having to leave his house for what was essentially a rebuilding wasn't that stressful to him. He'd decided to look on his few weeks in a motel as a Death Eater-free adventure, almost like a vacation. Since he'd never had a proper vacation, he thought this was only fair.

Even going to the laundromat wasn't an annoyance to him. He knew very well how to do laundry, after all, and once he'd figured out the coin-operation system, he'd been off to the races. One of his socks had tried to escape its fate, but Harry's Seeker reflexes had been more than up to the task of capturing the errant footwear.

He'd noticed the large man when he'd come out of the men's room—Merlin, he was HUGE! —and felt his magic stir as the man sat down and began reading a magazine. Harry noticed that the man was only wearing boxers, but then seeing him (out of the corner of his eye, of course; Harry would never be so rude as to stare) load up what looked like a complete outfit, including a pair of battered trainers, into a dryer pretty much solved that mystery. Harry suspected there was a story there, but since finding out would require him to actually talk to the man, he'd stifled his curiosity and picked up his copy of the local paper.

Harry still received the Daily Prophet and The Quibbler, in weekly shipments from Eddie Spindle via a correspondence box—put documents in one of a matched pair, and they appeared in the other—but he'd also taken the local paper shortly after arriving. He'd reasoned that, since he planned to be in Forks for quite some time, knowing a bit about his new home was only practical and sensible. He thought that Hermione would approve, and then winced as a wave of sadness and regret swept over him. He and Hermione had 'grown apart' before his departure, and she'd been all too insistent that his duty was 'to stay and help us rebuild' the Ministry and British wizarding world at large after the war.

Harry realized what his friend was really saying was 'Harry, you need to stay here to support the radical changes I want to force down the throats of all and sundry', and quite frankly, he just wasn't up to it. He'd done what the prophecy demanded at no small cost to himself, and now just wanted to be left alone.

Naturally, neither Ron nor Hermione understood this; Ron because he'd been born and raised a pureblood wizard, Hermione, because she wanted to modernize the wizarding world overnight. Fortunately for Harry's sanity, Neville and Luna had been thoroughly supportive. Luna had even smiled mysteriously shortly before he'd decided to leave, given him a kiss on the cheek and said, "I'll be invited to the wedding, of course," before sauntering off.

Harry snorted at the memory. As if he'd find someone in Forks! The very thought was ludicrous.

He was engrossed in the adverts section—there was a sale on beets, but his motel room didn't have enough of a kitchen to be worth the name—when one of his washing machines decided to explode.

Harry groaned as he put down the paper and rushed to the overflowing machine. Raising the lid, he was immediately drenched in soapy water as the tub spun down. Water was still pouring into the machine, welling out of the top and onto the floor. Cursing under his breath that he wasn't alone—a simple spell or three should have easily cleaned up the mess—he struggled to shut the water off, without success.

Suddenly, his magic flared, and he was aware of an immense Presence looming over him.

"Hey, let me help you with that," the mountain of a man said, reaching behind the machine and doing something that stopped the incipient flood.

A small part of Harry's brain noted that the man's voice was deep and rich and soothing as he smiled up into an open, honest face with the darkest eyes he'd ever seen.

* * *

Jacob heard the 'thump-grind-gush' of a washing machine on the verge of death, and looked up to see the machine begin to overflow. The messy-haired boy in front of it dropped his paper and rushed to try to shut it off, but it was obvious that he didn't know to reach behind the machine and manually shut off the water supply.

His relative undress forgotten, Jacob quickly went to help.

"Hey, let me help you with that," he said, then reached across the machine and closed the valve with a few quick twists of his hand. From the initial resistance, Jacob suspected a normal man might have had problems turning the valve, but he hadn't been 'normal' for a while.

Immediate crisis averted, he straightened and looked down at the boy. Seeing a smiling face turned up to his, he looked into eyes of emerald green…and the world shifted on its axis for one Jacob Black.

* * *

Harry's gaze locked with the beautiful eyes of the huge man (where did that thought come from?), and he felt his magic sizzle inside him. For a long moment, he couldn't look away, despite his frantic struggle to keep his magic from overflowing his body and flooding the room. Since there was no telling how much damage that might do, he used all his strength to clamp down on his happily wiggling (?) magical core.

Finally, the sensation of cold water seeping into his trainers penetrated his brain, and Harry broke eye contact, blushing furiously.

"Erm, thanks," he stammered, focusing on the mess in front of him and not the sensations the man next to him seemed to be causing. Just what in the name of Circe was going on?

"No problem," the voice rumbled. "Hey, let's get your stuff in a new machine, then we can look for a mop to clean this mess up."

"Right. Wouldn't do to just leave this, someone might fall," Harry said, frantically latching onto the relatively normal conversation to have something other than his feelings to focus on.

Beside him, Harry felt as much as heard the snort of laughter. "No, I guess not," the man replied. Then, his arm brushed Harry's, and the young wizard almost collapsed from the sensation.

* * *

Jacob looked down into eyes the color of new leaves, and something he hadn't known was missing all his life suddenly snapped into place. 'This is the most important person in the universe' something inside of him whispered. At least Jacob thought he heard a whisper; it was hard to tell over the roaring that suddenly filled his ears. The boy was…perfect. No other word even came close. From those beautiful eyes, to the messy hair, high cheekbones and kissable lips, he was…perfect.

Despite the mental shock—since when did he think a boy's lips were 'kissable'? —Jacob couldn't look away. Distantly, he began to realize he must have imprinted on the small young man, but…wasn't his imprint supposed to be on a woman? Wasn't he supposed to be the mate of his imprint? He remembered the Elders speculating that imprinting was how the shifter gene was passed along in the tribe, so why…this obviously wasn't a girl. Just what the hell was going on?

Green eyes looked away, and Jacob distantly heard the boy stammer a thanks. With the loss of eye contact, reality came back in the form of cold water seeping around his toes.

"No problem," he said. "Hey, let's get your stuff in a new machine, then we can look for a mop to clean this mess up." There, that sounded normal enough, didn't it? Fortunately for Jacob's sanity, the young man agreed, and said something about not wanting people to slip and fall in the mess.

It really wasn't that funny, but Jacob felt more than a little giddy. "No, I guess not," he laughed. As Jacob reached over to begin rescuing the load of laundry from the dead machine, his arm brushed against the green-eyed boy.

It was like sticking a screwdriver into a light socket, only in a fantastic, never better kind of way.

* * *

Harry felt a thrill of magic pass over him as he made skin contact with the other man, and jerked his arm back reflexively. Fortunately for both of them, the contact lasted for a fraction of a second, and the pair stood looking at each other, surprised.

Jacob was the first to recover.

"I…uh…there must be a short somewhere. I mean, we're both standing in water, and…."

"Yeah, that's got to be it. My trainers are soaked, and you're barefoot," Harry agreed. "Is there a junction box, so we can shut off the power?"

"Junction…oh, you mean fuse box?" Jacob asked, then smiled. "Yeah, I guess so. Let me go look," he said, then turned away.

While the huge boy was gone—Harry was starting to get the idea that, while he looked much older than the British wizard, he really wasn't—Harry was able to use a few wandless charms to minimize the mess and let him recover his clothes without making any more. By the time Jacob returned, he'd gotten them into a new washer and was preparing to begin the cycle again.

Jacob was pushing a mop in a janitor's bright yellow bucket on wheels, and grinning.

"I couldn't find the fuse box, but I did find this," he said.

"I suppose that'll have to do, then," Harry smiled back. He was really starting to like that smile. "I'm Harry, by the way."

"Jacob Black," Jacob said, and stuck his hand out automatically.

Without thinking, Harry took the offered hand, and watched his own vanish into Jacob's grip. The surge of magic that resulted from the contact wasn't nearly as overwhelming as before, but was certainly enjoyable.

Jacob took the offered hand carefully. Yeah, as if he'd ever turn down a chance to touch his imprint! Still, the mess-haired boy was only human, and Jacob could crush bricks with his grip if he tried. In the split-second before their hands touched, he almost panicked. What if there was another one of those whatever it was…?

When nothing happened but a faint, very pleasant tingle, Jacob's smile grew even larger. At least he now knew his imprint's name. Harry. Harry. Harry. Nice!

The pair stood there, just looking at one another until Harry finally blushed and looked away. Jacob's letdown at loosing contact quickly bounced back up when he saw the blush, and he couldn't help but snicker.

"What's so funny?" Harry snapped, turning back with a glare.

"Nothing, nothing," Jacob said, holding his hands up, placating Harry. "It's just…I didn't expect to meet a new friend here today," he said. He wanted to go off somewhere and pound his head against the wall for being so lame.

Harry gave a half-smirk back. "I take it that you don't usually stand around laundromats in your undergarments hoping to meet people?"

Now it was Jacob's turn to blush, then explain just how he came to be here in his boxer shorts, waiting for his laundry to finish.

That was the beginning of what turned into a long conversation between the pair. Aside from a brief pause when Jacob's clothes finished drying—he quickly pulled them on straight from the dryer—the two talked for the next hour or so until Harry's laundry was finally done. They didn't talk about much of consequence, just chatted casually, but Jacob did learn that Harry's last name was Potter, and he was staying in the local motel until his home renovation was complete. A comment on his accent led Harry to admit that he was a British citizen, recently come to America. Harry very carefully didn't say anything about why he'd come, and spoke of his past only in generalities, but since Jacob was doing the same dance around the Pack and the local vampire population, neither one of them commented on the mutual vagueness of their answers.

Jacob insisted on carrying Harry's laundry out to Harry's Land Rover, and whistled in admiration at the new vehicle.

"It's gorgeous," he enthused, which made Harry smile. He'd bought the thing primarily because it was a British company, and because he'd heard they were good vehicles for bad road conditions. Considering Forks had rain for more than 300 days a year, it had only made sense to him. He'd also asked Justin Finch-Fletchley about Land Rovers once, and received a glowing review from the muggle-born wizard. Since he really didn't know any other vehicles except for the BWM that Vernon always insisted was the best car ever made, he didn't even consider any other one. That his Land Rover had plenty of room to carry things in the back was just a bonus, in Harry's mind.

The pair was just standing there in the drizzle, wondering how to say goodbye to each other (and neither knowing just how much the other didn't want the conversation to end), when Jacob's stomach growled loudly. An answering growl from Harry's own belly made them both laugh.

"I think we need to grab some late lunch," Harry said. "Where's your favorite place?" he asked.

Jacob frowned. "I really can't. Washing my clothes cleaned out my pockets," he said, and was about to say goodbye when Harry just shrugged.

"Not a problem. It'll be my treat."

Jacob tried to protest, but Harry wasn't hearing it. "No, I'm buying, and you're coming. You helped save me from a laundry catastrophe, so I owe you lunch, at least. So, where would you like to go?"

Jacob let himself be persuaded after just enough resisting to satisfy his honor, then shut up when Harry threw him the keys and said "You know where we're going, so you drive."

It was exactly the right thing to say. With a huge grin, Jacob climbed into the Rover, adjusted the seat all the way back, and waited for Harry to buckle himself in.

"You realize, I'll have to move the seat forward before I drive it again," Harry mock-groused.

"It's not my fault you have no legs," Jacob laughed back, not at all bothered by the pout Harry gave him.

"It's not my fault that you obviously have a gorilla somewhere in your family tree," Harry shot back. He was a bit confused by Jacob's huge laugh at that, and his answer.

"Nope, not a gorilla. Wolves, yeah, but no gorillas."

"A wolf the size of a hippogryph," Harry muttered.

"I'm sorry?" Jacob asked, confused.

"Hippo. A wolf the size of a hippo…hippopotamus," Harry corrected himself, mentally cursing at his slip-up. Fortunately, Jacob let it drop.

"Yeah, probably," he said, then lost himself in the joy of driving the new vehicle. As much as Harry loved speed, he was glad to be wearing a seat belt as Jacob tore through the town to his favorite restaurant.

"This place has a great all-you-can-eat buffet," he smiled as he opened the door for Harry. He'd used just a bit of his speed to get around to the passenger door while Harry was fumbling with the seat belt.

"Let me guess…you didn't get as big as you are by eating sprouts and salads?" Harry asked easily.

"Nope," Jacob readily agreed, leading the way (and holding the restaurant door open for Harry) into the restaurant.

"You don't have to hold the door for me," Harry groused. "I'm not a bleeding princess."

"Oh, I hope not. Blood on the floor is always so messy to clean up." Jacob's bad joke earned him another glare, followed by a shake of Harry's head.

"It's an expression," Harry said. "Like 'prat', which you are, by the way."

"So 'prat' is a compliment, then?" Jacob asked innocently.

"Not hardly…prat," Harry fired back.

"Shrimp."

Harry just shrugged. "At least I don't lurk around laundromats in my boxers," he shot back.

The hostess that had just come up to seat them raised her eyebrows at that, catching the way that Jacob blushed. Fortunately for him, Harry took pity on him, and explained.

"He got filthy fixing his car in the rain, and was doing his clothes when my washing machine exploded," he said, smiling at the young woman. "Since he was kind enough to help me clean up the mess, I decided to overlook the fact that he's a pervy git," he finished.

"I see," the hostess smiled at the pair. "Table or booth?"

* * *

To Jacob's disappointment, they'd just missed the lunch buffet, and it would be some time before the evening buffet was laid out. While he'd gladly have spent the rest of the afternoon (and night, and the next morning, and the next day…) with his imprint, at some point he'd have to get back to the Reservation.

Harry just shrugged and asked for a pair of menus, and then looked at Jacob as the waitress left them alone. He looked into Jacob's eyes and used his 'I Beat Voldemort, don't mess with me' voice. "Order what you like, and don't worry about it. This is your reward for being my knight with shining mop bucket," he said.

Jacob didn't know whether to be irritated at not being able to pay, annoyed that Harry was taking charge, or amused at the 'knight with shining mop bucket' joke. He was trying to think of an appropriate comeback when Harry gave a small frown, then collected himself.

"Look, I don't want this to sound wrong, but money really isn't an issue for me. My godfather…died…a few years ago, and left me a sizable inheritance. He also would want me to enjoy spending it, and I'd really like to be able to take care of this without a lot of fuss. Please?" he finished, and went from stern 'Man Who Lived' to the puppy-dog eyes in an instant.

Jacob forgot about the distress and sorrow in Harry's demeanor when the puppy-dog eyes turned his insides to mush. "Okay," he said, then reached across the table to take Harry's hand.

Harry blushed once more at the gesture, and the still-pleasant sensations touching the huge young man caused. "Okay, then," he said, not breaking the contact.

The two were still holding hands when the waitress returned, which caused her to raise her eyebrows. Neither of them noticed.

* * *

There was a bit of disagreement when Harry told the waitress to bring Jacob two of everything he'd ordered ("Shut it, hippo. One super-deluxe cheeseburger can't possibly fill you up.") but otherwise it was an incredible meal. Not because of the food, which was very good in a greasy, horribly tasty but bad for you kind of way, but because of the company. Later, neither one would remember just exactly what they talked about, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that Jacob Black was with his imprint, and Harry Potter was more comfortable with his new friend than he'd been in ages.

So, one huge meal for Jacob and a much more modest snack for Harry later, followed by banana splits all 'round—Jacob finished off Harry's dessert after the smaller man gave up half-way through—Jacob drove Harry back to where his Rabbit was parked.

"So…thanks for the meal, and the chance to drive this sweet truck," Jacob said reluctantly.

"You're more than welcome," Harry smiled. "Thank you for helping me with my daily crisis," as he'd already labeled the washing machine incident.

"What about tomorrow's crisis?" Jacob asked, half-joking.

Harry pretended to think deeply. "Well, since I don't know what tomorrow's crisis will be, I don't know if you'll be able to help me with it," he said.

Jacob just shrugged, unconcerned. "We won't know until tomorrow. So, what time should I pick you up?"

Harry's eyes widened at the suggestion. "I…I don't…."

"Look, I'm not going all stalker-crazy on you," Jacob quickly said. "It's just that I had a great time today, and wouldn't mind doing it again tomorrow," he finished lamely. He restrained himself from beating his head on the Rover's steering wheel, but only just.

Harry paused, then a shy smile appeared. "I'd like that very much…but on one condition," he said.

"Name it."

"I buy lunch again. Supper, too, if you're still with me," Harry said firmly.

Jacob's grin threatened to split his face. "I think I can live with that…Lord Harry," he snickered. He'd started calling Harry that sometime during their mutual assault on the appetizers, since Harry was not only rich but also English. Harry hadn't objected at the time, since he'd never had chili cheese nachos before and was far gone into food nirvana.

"I did mention that you're a great thumping prat," Harry shot back, then flinched as Jacob lightly punched his shoulder. "And a git, too."

"So many compliments in one day," Jacob laughed. "So…tomorrow, late morning?" he asked.

"Yeah, late morning." Harry smiled at the thought.

Getting out of the Rover, the two met at the front of the vehicle. "I'm going to be in so much trouble for being late," Jacob said. He didn't seem terribly upset at the prospect, so Harry didn't let it bother him.

"Blame me, and the crazy washing machine," he said.

"Oh, I will," Jacob laughed. "Although, I won't tell my dad that you force-fed me afterwards."

Harry snorted. "I was force-feeding you? As I recall, I had to watch my fingers around you and those nachos."

"Well, yeah; they were chili cheese nachos! What did you expect?"

Harry didn't have an answer for that, so he just shrugged. The pair stood there for several long moments as each fought the urge to hug the other goodbye, not knowing that the other was doing the same thing.

Finally, Jacob sighed. "I've really got to go," he said.

"I'll be ready tomorrow about 11," Harry smiled. "Now, move your great thumping prat self from in front of my Land Rover so I can leave."

Jacob laughed, and bounded away. "See you tomorrow!" he called, before getting into his Rabbit and tearing off.

Harry stood there for a bit, a smile on his face, before he shook himself and went back to his motel room.

* * *

The next few days were both wonderful and horrible for both of the boys. Wonderful because each truly enjoyed spending time with the other, and thought up reasons why they should see each other at least every other day; horrible because each of them was tearing himself up inside because of their mutual secrets, and trying to keep them hidden.

Jacob managed to put off shifting for two whole days, but eventually ran out of excuses. Naturally, within a few minutes of him shifting, the other members of the Pack knew that he'd imprinted, and on a boy, at that. The ribbing quickly reached the point where Sam, as Alpha, had to intervene to keep Jacob from ripping several throats out.

"Jacob imprinted, and that's final. None of us have any control over who we imprint on, and we just have to trust that Jacob imprinted on this young man for a reason." Sam had a sour look on his face when he said this, but he really didn't have any choice. His alternatives were either to let Jacob 'discuss' the matter with the worst offenders, namely Paul and Leah, or risk Jacob leaving the Pack. He knew that Jacob could and would leave the Pack and form a Pack of his own (and probably take several of the Pack with him), which really wasn't an option Sam wanted to face. Sam had also taken it upon himself to inform the Elders about Jacob's imprint, knowing full well that they'd be less than happy with the situation.

"Just remember, you owe me for this big-time," the Alpha reminded Jacob. "And, I'm not going to be the one to tell your father. _You_ get to tell Billy Black that his future daughter-in-law is actually going to be a _son_-in-law."

"Gee, thanks," Jacob winced. He'd rather have faced the other Elders, and let Sam break the news to his dad, but Sam didn't give him any choice in the matter.

Billy had known something was up for several days, but had been waiting patiently for Jacob to let him know just why he'd been spending almost all of his time in Forks. When Jacob came in looking like he was walking towards his own execution, Billy decided to take the bull by the horns.

"Son, I think it's time we had a little talk," he'd begun, gesturing for Jacob to take a seat on their battered old couch.

He'd been expecting one of several things, most involving Bella Swan. Despite her ongoing infatuation with that vampire boy, Billy still had hopes that the girl would come to her senses and see that Jacob was actually a much better match for her. When Billy heard that Jacob had imprinted, his first reaction had been one of glee…until Jacob muttered "…and it's a guy."

"What?!" Billy barked. Surely he hadn't heard that right….

The misery on Jacob's face when he looked up from the floor confirmed Billy's fear. "Dad, I imprinted on a guy…but he's great, and I just know you'll love him!" Jacob said, all in a rush. "He's British, and he's renovating that old house just on the edge of the Rez, and…."

"Son…how did…how could this happen?" Billy was shocked. He was even more shocked, and still not convinced, after Jacob told him just how he'd met this Harry Potter fellow.

"I want to meet him, tomorrow," Billy said, and that was the end of the discussion. That night, what little sleep Jacob had was filled with dreams of him being disowned and thrown off the Rez by an irate Pack, stone-faced Elders, and a very disappointed father.

* * *

Harry couldn't decide which was worse: having to always watch what he was saying, and not use magical expression or words around the muggles, or not being able to use magic for all the little things he'd become accustomed to over the past few years, especially in front of Jacob.

That he found himself feeling incredibly girly things, like the desire to cuddle against the much bigger man, didn't help matters. He'd never felt an attraction like this before, certainly not to Cho or Ginny, and it confused him no end.

Harry nearly fainted when Jacob invited him to dinner with his father on the Reservation. But, he'd not been a Gryffindor for nothing.

"I'd love to meet your father, Jacob," he lied through his teeth. Then, he'd immediately started planning just how to make a good impression. The Hat had wanted to put him in Slytherin, after all.

* * *

The evening that Harry Potter met Billy Black had been incredibly strange. Jacob managed to get Harry to come to his home using the pretense that Billy wanted to meet his new friend, and was planning on cooking for them. It had admittedly been a little thin as excuses go, but it had been enough to do the job.

When Harry showed up with a cheesecake, a chocolate cake and a coconut cream pie, he'd made several brownie points with Billy right off. The two of them even started laughing about how Harry obviously knew how Jacob ate, so they shouldn't expect many leftovers.

Jacob was too relieved the two of them were actually being civil to each other to do more than glare at the pair…which, of course, made Harry and Billy go at him harder.

The most uncomfortable part of the evening came when, after the fourth or fifth time of being called 'Sir', the elder Black told Harry in no uncertain terms "my name is Billy, Mr. Potter, and you can just stop with this 'sir' nonsense."

"Then you have to call me Harry, and stop calling me 'Mr. Potter'," Harry fired back, eyes flashing. "I was taught to respect my elders," he snapped.

"I'm old, but I'm not dead yet," Billy's tone was equally sharp. "I'll thank you to respect me enough to do as I say in my own home."

"Only if you call me Harry," the young man insisted.

Billy smiled and visibly relaxed. "I think I can do that, Harry," he said.

Harry's smile lit up the room. "I'd like that…Billy," he said. Then, "sir".

"You, young man, will either go far in life, or wind up in a shallow grave," Billy laughed.

Harry shrugged. "They haven't buried me yet," he said, and changed the subject before Billy or Jacob could say anything else. He wasn't about to discuss his past with his new friend and his father, especially not when they'd just met.

Fortunately, Billy thought it was just a joke, and a good one, at that. "Well, hopefully I won't have to send Jacob out with a shovel tonight," he laughed. "I hope you like deer meat," he said, motioning for Harry to follow him into the kitchen while Jacob stood there, releasing a breath that he hadn't noticed himself holding.

Harry'd never had venison before, and proclaimed it delicious. When he and Billy started swapping recipes, Jacob started to think that maybe, just maybe, he would survive the night.

The rest of the evening was spent discussing pleasant things like cooking, Harry's remodeling, and just what he was going to cook for the Blacks once his new kitchen was finished. Harry made a mental note to get in touch with his contractor first thing the next morning, to make sure his home was wheelchair-friendly when it was done. He found himself very much taken with the elder Black, and began to see where Jacob's sunny personality came from. While Billy had seen his share of life's unpleasantness, he'd managed to come through with a basic sense of optimism that Harry found quite enjoyable. Compared to the gloomy atmosphere of post-Voldemort England, it was like walking into sunshine after being in a dark room.

To his great surprise, Billy found himself liking the polite young Englishman more and more as the evening went on. The boy was surprisingly likable, and from the way he talked, obviously knew his way around a kitchen. When the subject of his wealth came up, Harry repeated his story about his godfather, and added that his parents had also been fairly well off. What impressed Billy was the calm, matter of fact way Harry said it, then promptly changed the subject rather than putting on airs. He'd been concerned when Jacob let it slip that Harry always paid for their meals—not an inconsequential sum where Jacob was concerned—but since Harry seemed determined not to make a fuss about it, Billy let himself relax. It seemed that even his son's appetite wasn't going to break the boy's finances, so it really wasn't his problem.

Jacob found himself relaxing once the meal began. He'd been terrified that the two most important people in his life wouldn't get along, but there they were, laughing together like old friends. That most of their laughter was over the two of them giving him shit actually made him feel kinda good. Pissed off, yeah, but also pretty good. Of course, if they kept it up he'd either have to retaliate or kill them both, but at least they weren't snarling at each other. Just the opposite, in fact.

"So, there I was, standing in front of a spewing washing machine, when this half-naked monster walks up and just looms over me," Harry was saying, rolling his eyes in Jacob's direction while Billy snickered at the mental image Harry was creating. "Tell me, Billy…is standing around in public places half-naked something you taught him to do, or did he learn it all by himself?"

Billy pretended to think, ignoring Jacob's protests. "I can't recall ever teaching him that," he said. "For the life of me, I don't know where he picked it up."

And that was how the evening went. Aside from Jacob's ego, nothing was broken or bruised. When Jacob came back in from seeing Harry back to his Land Rover, Billy's only comment was "I think he's a fine young man, son. We'll have to have him over again sometime soon."

Being a wise man, Billy affected not to notice when his son wilted in relief at his pronouncement.

Naturally, their first fight was epic.

**A/N:** Some plot bunnies just won't go away. This was one of them. Harry and Jacob work so well together I just had to explain how they came together. Enjoy!

Yes, I've played fast and loose with the timelines in both canons. Yes, this is AU (no duh, it's a cross-over). No, I haven't read the Twilight books, or Deathly Hallows, and don't intend to. Yes, I twisted both canons like a pretzel to fit my own story, and NO I don't care, because I'm basically an evil old fart who has nothing better to do than sit around and plot how to make your particular life miserable and taunt you into writing flame reviews so that I can insult you horribly in the reply and then block you from my site forever. Satisfied?

Remember, every time you review a fic, an angel gets its wings. Except flames. Flames lengthen your time in Purgatory by a century per flame. Or something like that.

**Next Chapter:** The boys have their first fight, and secrets get not only spilled, but gutted like fish and spread across the landscape for all to see. Oh, and there's a vampire.

**YES** this fic is complete. I'm going to try (among running a new website, writing a book, and the usual six other projects hanging fire) to complete Vale of Destiny and Cliche of Death (and the omakes that I've already started), but no promises as to when they'll get done. I have decided not to even start posting new fics until they are completed. So, if a fic starts and then I disappear, either (a) the computer has died or (b) the Guru has died. Just so you know.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** The boys have their first fight, and Harry remodels his house. Everybody's secrets get spilled.

There's a photo of Harry's Forks House on my LiveJournal: twistyguru (d0t) livejournal (d0t) com; you may have to scroll down a bit to find it, but feel free to browse about-there's also a pic that goes well with my Mary Poppins/Harry Potter stories, as well as the usual other stuff. You know how these livejournals get; they turn into literary attics after a few years.

**DISCLAIMER AND WARNING: PLEASE SEE CHAPTER 1! This is SLASH and has MPREG later! Don't like, go away!**

**CHAPTER 2**

Naturally, their first fight was epic.

It hadn't been too many days since Harry and Billy had met, and Jacob had been walking on cloud nine ever since. Harry, on the other hand, had been dealing with a contractor who apparently didn't speak any form of the English language Harry knew.

The morning after meeting Billy, Harry had gotten up bright and early and driven from his motel to his house. He'd wanted to meet with his contractor early, as he had a few changes in mind to make his home more handicapped-friendly. He'd known that what he wanted would be more expensive, and extend the time needed to complete the remodel, but he didn't really care.

He was starting to realize that having access to unlimited wealth and a long lifespan—without the threat of a Dark Moron hanging over one's head—gave one a rather different perspective from most people.

The contractor had balked at the first mention of changing anything at all. He made dire predictions about the cost, even when Harry said, repeatedly, that money was no object, even to the point of invoking Sirius' bequest to him. Not seeing the warning signs on Harry's face, the contractor made a number of excuses about permits, more plans, the need to involve an architect and delay the job until that was done. Harry said fine, I'd love to talk with the architect, when can we meet? The contractor then made a snide remark about Harry living in a motel for the next year, to which Harry just shrugged. After his cupboard on Privet Drive and years sharing a dorm with Ron and Dean's snores and Seamus' morning flatulence, his residential suite suited him just fine. Finally, the contractor said he had other jobs lined up after Harry's, and he couldn't change his schedule by more than a day or so…maybe enough to put in a wheelchair ramp, but that was about it. After all, Harry didn't really need it, did he?

Harry turned away from the man to keep from hexing him, took a few cleansing breaths, pulled his Occulumency shields up, turned back around and fired the man.

"I'll expect you to leave the plans and a summary of what's been done and what's left to do," Harry said calmly. "I'll pay the full amount, plus whatever penalty you want to charge me, but I want you gone by the end of the day. Thank you very much."

When Jacob arrived for their lunch date that day (he was still a little freaked out to be 'dating' a male, but since it was his imprint, he was adjusting rapidly), he found Harry still fuming. Naturally, he asked Harry what was wrong, and got an earful. Then, trying to mollify his imprint, Jacob said exactly the wrong thing.

"Harry, you really don't have to change your house plans just because of my dad. Maybe if you went back and talked to the contractor…."

Compared to the explosion that followed, Mt. St. Helens was a firecracker. Harry ranted and raved about the stupidity of contractors in general and mankind in particular; he knew what he wanted and was bloody well sick and tired of being told he couldn't have it, or that he didn't really need it, or shouldn't have it because it wouldn't advance the Greater Good (Jacob could hear the capital letters, but didn't dare interrupt at that point to ask). He, Harry J. Potter, was going to make his home one that his new friend Billy Black would be totally comfortable and safe in, come hell or hippogryphs, and if it took a hundred years and a hundred tons of gold to make it happen then by Merlin, Mordred and Morgana's saggy tits he was going to make it happen! Furthermore he was sodding well _done_ with being told what he could and could not do; it was _his_ house and _his_ money and if he had to he would raze the place to the ground and start fresh, _"See if I won't, now_ _**GET OUT!**_"

The next thing Jacob knew, he was standing beside his Rabbit, not really knowing how he'd gotten there. Shaken, stunned and more than a little hurt, he drove back home and slunk into his room, muttering to Billy "we had a fight" but not saying anything else.

Two hours later, Billy was still torn between keeping well away from the pair or going into town to give that Potter boy a piece of his mind, when a very subdued and contrite Harry Potter knocked on his door. In a soft voice, Harry told Billy that he'd been an arse to Jacob that morning, and taken out his frustrations on the Quileute, when none of it was Jacob's fault at all. Harry looked like he'd been crying, and Billy couldn't miss the sincerity in his voice and manner. So, Billy only nodded, said "sometimes things like that happen; it's what we do afterward that's most important—well, that, and try to learn from our mistakes, to keep it from happening again", and called Jacob into the living room.

Jacob didn't want to come. Billy finally wheeled himself to his son's room and pounded on the door, ordering him out. When Jacob finally followed his dad into the living room, he just stood there, stone faced, while Harry groveled. When Harry was done groveling, Jacob still stood there, the very picture of 'stoic Injun'. Inside, of course, he was squealing with joy that his imprint cared enough about him to apologize, much less completely upend a significant part of his life just to accommodate his father.

Seeing no change in Jacob's expression once he'd apologized, Harry'd shrugged. "Again, I'm sorry, Jacob. Since we were supposed to go to lunch today, I brought a few things; if you'll help me carry them in, I'll just be going." He felt his emotions locking down at the thought that he'd destroyed his friendship with the other man, but it wasn't like he was a stranger to being alone. He'd manage, somehow.

Jacob felt the misery coming off his imprint in waves, and couldn't hold the cold mask in place.

"You realize, I'm not the one who caused the problem," he said.

Harry looked down and nodded once.

"You had no reason to blow up at me like that," Jacob went on.

Harry nodded again, not looking up. He made a sound that was suspiciously like a sniffle.

"I still say you don't have to change your plans just to accommodate Dad, _but_," Jacob raised one hand, cutting Harry off as the Brit's head snapped up, his eyes flashing. "I think Dad's flattered that you'd do it. I know I am." He stared into emerald eyes and watched the torrent of emotions dancing there. "If you ever blow up at me like that again, I'm going to throw you off a cliff into the ocean to cool you off. Understand?"

Harry nodded, relief beginning to show on his face. "That…sounds fair."

The corners of Jacob's mouth twitched. "In fact, I think I'm going to throw you off a cliff later today, anyway. We haven't gone cliff diving yet, and that's just a damned shame."

Harry shook his head at the non sequitur. "I…I've never been cliff diving," he said, a bit anxiously. "Is it safe?"

A huge grin spread across Jacob's face. "Not at all, especially since I'm going to see just how far I can throw your scrawny butt out to sea. Who knows, I might be able to hit Japan."

Harry sagged in relief. "Prat."

"Idiot. Now, you made me miss lunch. What'd you bring?" Trust Jacob to not forget the mention of food, Billy thought, very pleased at both Harry's apology and Jacob's reaction to it.

Harry's 'few things' turned out to be enough food for Hannibal and his elephants, which was fortunate because just as he and Jacob began carrying it into Billy's house, several of the Pack showed up. Consequently, Harry's introduction to the Pack was a rousing success, but no leftovers remained afterwards. The young wizard didn't seem surprised by the appetites of Paul, Quil and Embry, but did make a comment that "pity Ron's not here to show you what a real trencherman can do". Everyone else claimed not to believe Harry's story that his school friend could out-eat them, but it was good for a round of laughs. And, Harry took their ribbing about him being 'Jacob's new boyfriend' well, despite blushing to the tips of his ears as he made the expected pro-forma denials. His shot back asking "so, which of you is Jacob's ex, and which of you are dating him now?" got several rolls thrown at him.

Everyone was impressed that Harry managed to catch every one and fire them back at their throwers. Noticing the looks he was getting, Harry just shrugged and said "cricket". Since none of the Quileutes understood the game at all (neither did Harry, but he'd learned that everyone assumed he did, which made bluffing his way around the issue very easy), no one said anything else about it.

Probably the best thing to come out of that day, besides the relationships Harry was building, was Billy's interest in Harry's remodeling plans. Stating that nobody really understood what it was like to be in a wheelchair until they were actually stuck there, Billy asked Harry if he could go over whatever plans Harry was considering.

"No, you can't go over them," Harry said smugly, enjoying the shocked looks. "You're coming with me to the architect, and you'll tell me what's a good idea and what's total rubbish." He arched one eyebrow and channeled Draco Malfoy for just a bit. "I see no reason not to avail myself of your expert services. I'll expect a bill for the consultancy, of course." Harry sniffed in his best upper-class twit manner and went back to his lunch, pointedly ignoring the hoots and catcalls about 'Lord Potter', 'yes, m'Lord' and 'oooh, listen to him'.

As it turned out, Billy knew of another contractor who would be more than willing to work with Harry (and take his money). Since this man was a Quileute himself, having Billy vouch for Harry would take care of any difficulties that might arise. Since Harry was throwing his money around for the benefit of one of the tribe's most respected members, no one said much about his obvious wealth.

That Harry's remodeling job poured buckets of money into Quileute pockets was whispered about, but no one dared say anything to Harry, Jacob or Billy…or the rest of the Pack, for that matter. The contractor offered, and Harry readily agreed, to hire the Pack on as construction workers, which gave everyone a bit more pocket money. Sam Uley had initially been reluctant to go along with the idea, but a few words here and there about flexible schedules (there was patrolling to be done) and work hours won him over. He still had his reservations about Jacob's imprint, but he hadn't seen Billy Black so excited in years. Even Charlie Swan, upon meeting Harry, commented on how happy Billy looked.

Harry smiled, shook the Police Chief's hand, said something inconsequential, and went back to planning the best place for an herb garden.

When it was finally done, the old Black house had been transformed. It still had the same basic outward appearance—it was a great hulking Victorian pile of a place with high peaked roofs and a square tower at one corner with an iron-railed widow's walk on the top which several people said looked like it belonged in a horror movie. Harry agreed, but didn't mind. After all, he'd spent several years living in a castle; 'haunted house' comments only made him smile. He'd repainted the outside a warm green with darker green trim, which let it blend into the surrounding trees and he liked much better than the original faded grey. Inside, he'd knocked out walls, opened up the space, and made one huge living room out of the formal parlors and receiving rooms. He'd done much the same with the kitchen and formal dining room, making one huge kitchen, with some of the counters lowered to wheelchair height. He'd left the library intact (there was a secret magically-expanded room hidden behind the wall he'd wanted to knock out, so that was right out) but extended the shelves up to the ceilings.

Upstairs, Harry had agreed to leave the master suite more or less intact, except for the bathroom, which was expanded by sacrificing a small room adjacent to it. Harry wanted a huge shower and a huge tub, so he got both; no questions asked. What started as six guest rooms and a nanny suite became four rooms with en suite baths and an elevator shaft—once again, what Harry wanted, Harry got.

On one side of the house he added a glass solarium, with ready access to the area where he built a small greenhouse. He had ideas about growing fresh vegetables and herbs, with the idea that all that gardening experience from Privet Drive would finally be useful, even enjoyable when he was doing it because he wanted to rather than being forced. Worst-case scenario, Harry knew a world-class Herbologist; Neville was only a series of portkeys away.

On the other side of the house, just off the library, Harry added a study and additional large room. He didn't know what he would do with the second room, but he didn't want a large study, and that wing needed extra space because of the expansion of the floor above. He thought briefly about making it into a potions lab, but even with the Half-Blood Prince's help he'd only been an adequate brewer.

Lastly, he'd made sure that every entrance had a convenient ramp, and connected a new three-car garage and workroom to the house by covered walkways. He'd allowed the architect free reign over the design of the back deck—he suspected that Jacob had made a few 'suggestions', which he realized he liked a great deal—so he had a huge open area with what amounted to a second outdoor kitchen with a grill the size of a Quidditch pitch and a redwood hot tub off to one side. He wasn't stupid enough to think the space would go unused—he'd have to have been deaf to miss the comments the Pack made while they were building it; about how much fun they were going to have at 'their' new house.

Harry found himself having the odd thought or two about sharing the hot tub with Jacob…_just_ Jacob…and not at all minding those thoughts in the least. He told himself that he didn't really know what might happen when it was just the two of them, but then again, he'd always been good at lying to himself.

Like every remodeling job, there were times when Harry wanted to tear his hair out, or kill (at various times) the contractor, Billy, Jacob, Paul, Quil, Embry, Sam, Seth, Leah (especially Leah, who had a positive gift for going directly to Harry's last nerve…a phrase he'd learned because of Leah) and himself…but Jacob had the solution to that well in hand. Harry'd only had to be bodily dragged down to the cliffs and tossed in the Pacific, fully clothed, three times before the remodeling was over.

Granted, the third time was purely gratuitous, but since Harry rather enjoyed the sensation of flying from Jacob's arms out to sea, he didn't really mind.

Later, Jacob would realize that Harry could have stopped him at any time, but didn't. The realization left him feeling warm and fuzzy inside for the rest of that day.

The 'House is Finally Done' party was an epic blowout, and was still going the next morning when the sun came up. Harry'd managed to pass off several cases of butterbeer as 'a British drink'—true as far as it went, and not likely to be disputed—and had laid in more food than a Hogwarts Welcoming Feast. The only sour note came when Chief Swan and his daughter Bella dropped by. Harry knew that Jacob and Bella had been something of an item, but he wasn't prepared for the poisonous glares she kept giving him. He also didn't really understand the sheer contempt Jacob seemed to have for her new boyfriend, but was too busy playing host (and missing Winky's help) to ask Jacob about it. Fortunately, the rude, clumsy hag hadn't stayed long, and the party hadn't suffered (much) from the wet blanket she'd tried to throw over it. He did manage to tell Billy that Chief Swan was always welcome, since he was Billy's friend. Billy picked up on the unspoken 'but not Bella', and assured Harry that he'd pass that word along.

Harry did manage to get into his swim trunks before Jacob and Embry unceremoniously dunked him in the hot tub, but it was a near thing. He'd been dreading the party, mostly due to the stress of the remodel, but found himself having more fun that he'd ever imagined. That Jacob always seemed to be nearby, and the two of them were constantly sharing looks, was starting to seem incredibly natural to him.

Shortly after dawn, when Jacob pulled Harry down onto the couch in the living room with him, Harry let himself be positioned on top of his friend with only a token protest.

"I'll crush you," he muttered, shifting into a comfortable position.

Jacob snorted. "What is it you say? Not bloody likely."

"Prat. Next you'll be wanting me to make you fish and chips."

Jacob shifted himself, tucking his imprint's head into the hollow of his shoulder. "Only if you let me eat them with ketchup. Vinegar and salt is just nasty."

"Vinegar and salt is the only proper way to eat them, barbarian," Harry murmured. He had a fleeting thought about how this might look to some, but he was totally exhausted, and Jacob was so warm and comfortable to lie on….

Much later that morning, Billy Black came down from the room he'd claimed the night before to see Harry Potter cradled on top of his son, both of them sound asleep and drooling on each other.

Smiling, he shook his head and quietly made his way to the kitchen to see if the ravening horde had left anything he could call breakfast.

* * *

Once his house was finally—FINALLY!—done, Harry had enough time on his hands to realize he'd been putting off something for far too long. He needed to have a talk with Jacob about how he felt…just as soon as he figured out just what his feelings were. Since the only things that even came close were his experiences with Cho Chang and Ginny Weasley, he didn't really have much to go on. Oh, there'd been the usual sneering banter about 'shirt lifters' and 'poofters' in the Gryffindor dorms late at night, but he'd never imagined that he'd feel 'that way' about another man.

He'd gotten used to the sensations whenever he and Jacob touched skin to skin. It was still enjoyable, very much so, but it had blessedly diminished to the point where he could still function normally, and didn't flinch (much) any more. That he'd slept better on top of Jacob on his couch than in any bed he'd ever had both excited and worried him. He was also at a loss to explain why his magical core absolutely purred—there was no other word for it—whenever the big Quileute was around. It didn't do that for any of the other members of what Jacob called 'the Pack'. Harry'd questioned the term when Jacob let it slip out, only to wonder why Jacob hemmed and hawed about it before rapidly changing the subject. Neither Paul nor Embry batted an eye when Harry started referring to them as 'the Pack', usually with a laughing comment about them raiding his larder. At least they were good about coming with to the market, and somebody had started talking about Lord Harry and His Faithful Sherpas; it had become a running joke with them.

Harry trotted out the upper-class twit voice a time or two to remind a local "one never goes on safari without one's native bearers, don't you know". The 'someone holding a turd under your nose' look (a Petunia Dursley special) and sniff that went with it never failed to make people smile. That the Pack went along by 'salaam-ing' to 'Lord Harry' didn't hurt. That Harry never bought just a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk didn't hurt, either. He was feeding the Pack several meals a week, after all.

Harry did wonder about those times when one of the other boys would get close to him, or roughhouse him—his hair was a favorite target for mussing—and Jacob would growl, making the other boy back away quickly. Part of Harry liked the possessive streak Jacob had for him. Part of him…well, he was Harry Potter, and things he didn't understand tended to be bad for him.

Finally, Harry was going spare with worry that Jacob would find out about magic. He'd been able to downplay his strange choice in words as 'just a British thing, plus I read a lot of fantasy growing up'. That he'd gotten quite good at silent, wandless magic had also been a tremendous help; he always had a wand on his person at all times ('Constant Vigilance!') but his disillusioned holster was guaranteed to be 'undetectable by any means'. Granted, Harry knew at least four different ways to detect it, but Jacob wasn't a wizard, so that wasn't an issue.

The absolute worst, most horrible, terrifying, agonizing thing was…Harry wanted to tell him. Not just about magic, which would probably get him a quick trip to whatever the Amis used in place of Azkaban, but also…that Harry was crushing on the big Quileute in major way, and it was about to drive him insane. Had Jacob been an arse, it would have been much easier, but no! Jacob was kind, smart, funny, considerate, easy on the eyes (that particular admission hadn't come easy) and easy to love.

Yeah. Love. Therein lay the problem. Harry Potter, wizard, had fallen in love with Jacob Black, muggle man.

Harry went through a very bad few hours—Jacob was busy doing Pack things, whatever that meant—when he realized he was falling in love with another man. He'd only come out of it when he realized that despite his feelings, he could never, ever tell Jacob how he felt. He valued their friendship too much to ever risk loosing it, and he was sure Jacob would never speak to him again if he found out.

A phrase Vernon had been fond of using came to mind: stiff upper lip. Well, Harry had survived worse. He'd muddle through somehow, Merlin only knew how, but he'd do it.

* * *

Since the universe frequently does things in pairs, Jacob Black was having much the same conversation with himself. He knew sooner or later he'd have to tell Harry about the imprint, and what it meant. He also fully expected Harry to run screaming back to England, where he couldn't follow, leaving Jacob to find a cave, crawl in it and die. He kept telling himself it wasn't because Harry was a man; he'd reconciled himself to the fact that he'd imprinted on a male, for some unknown reason. What really worried Jacob was how Harry would react to finding out that the two of them were mystically bonded, and that he spent a lot of his time on four legs, running around the woods and killing vampires.

He'd played the movie of that conversation in his head a thousand times.

"Let me get this straight," Harry would say. "You're a shape-shifter who becomes a wolf the size of a horse anytime you want to, not just on the full moon, and you do this because vampires are real and you and your Pack protect your tribe from them. But, there is a family of veggie vampires living right here in Forks that you don't kill, but they can't come on your lands and you can't go on theirs. Shape shifters have a magical bond to their one true soul mate to ensure the shifting gene is passed on, but you imprinted on me even though I'm a man."

In his head, Jacob would nod miserably, at which point Harry would either laugh for hours or immediately call for men with butterfly nets and coats with sleeves that buckle in the back to come and take him away for a nice long 'rest'.

Either way, Jacob couldn't see any good outcome to that discussion, so he kept putting it off…and off…and off.

That the Pack was in his head every time he shifted wasn't helping matters any. Sam had already told him more than once to man up and tell Harry, but between the guys ribbing him and Leah's bitching, Jacob just couldn't do it.

It was going to be horrible. He'd better start looking for a Jacob-sized cave.

* * *

Harry threw down his pen—sod quills, a good biro was the way to go, stupid backwards wizards and their damned quills—and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He knew what he needed, and by Merlin he was going to do it!

Harry doffed a black leather duster that he'd picked up in Forks. He'd loved the coat from the first moment he saw it, and justified the purchase because you could never have too many raincoats in Forks. Actually, he'd loved the way it moved when he did, and the slit up the back let the bottom swirl almost like a robe.

He'd charmed a grandfather clock with a secret space in back, and that was where he'd taken to hiding his broom. He hadn't been able to make himself buy another Firebolt. Sirius had given him his Firebolt, and that had been special. Instead, he'd bought a Nimbus 2001, knowing it wasn't quite as fast as the Firebolt. He'd been quite surprised to find out that what the Nimbus lacked in speed it more than made up for in agility. It had taken Harry an hour or so to really get used to the thing, but he'd begun to like the way it flew even better than the Firebolt.

He'd taken it with him when he spent two weeks in Bulgaria, hanging out with Victor Krum. Krum had showed him a few professional tricks "for vhen you play for England, against me", including how to push his own magic into the broom to increase its performance. Doing that was hard on the charms—most professionals cycled brooms every couple of years—but Harry being Harry, he could make the Nimbus do things his Firebolt couldn't dream of doing, and with virtually the same top speed on the straightaway.

Victor, aspiring broom designer that he was, had strengthened the charms on Harry's broom, and laid a few more 'secret' ones on it.

Harry hadn't even had to swear a magical oath to wheedle those charms out of Victor...but he might have promised an endorsement or two, in exchange for a future production model Krum broom.

Stepping out into the drizzle and completely ignoring it, Harry disillusioned himself and pushed off. His house was isolated enough that no one should have seen him, but erring on the side of caution had become second nature to one Harry J. Potter.

He'd taken off heading roughly southwest, intending to fly down the coast for a bit. He didn't really want to overfly the inhabited parts of the Rez, and hoped that some time over the ocean would clear his head. He'd been in the air for several minutes when he felt something…odd. His magic was reacting to something just ahead and to his left, and since he had nothing better to do, he changed course and increased his speed.

He didn't have a name for the sense he was using to find what he was looking for; magic really didn't have a 'smell', but that was close enough. It didn't take him long to find a clearing in the forest below. Looking down, what he saw made his blood run cold.

* * *

Jacob, Paul and Quil were on patrol, and Jacob was about two seconds away from ripping Paul's throat out if he didn't shut up about Jacob and Harry making sweet love together. Not that Jacob didn't want to make sweet love with Harry Potter, but having those two idiots go on and on and on about it was getting on his nerves.

He was just about to think something really nasty back at them, when his nose twitched. He smelled _leech_. The cloying, sickly-sweet smell of vampire drifted down from the trees. Obviously, some bloodsucker had used the trees to pass through the area recently.

The trio of wolves spread out, and within moments located what seemed like the leach's direction of travel. Growling, the wolves began running, following the scent as best they could. They burst out of the woods into a sizable clearing, where they saw their quarry for the first time. The vampire noticed them immediately, spinning and hissing at them angrily. The wolves charged, and the vampire stood there ready to meet them. Then, the world exploded.

* * *

Harry pushed a bit more power into the Nimbus and felt it respond like the magnificent piece of craftsmanship it was. He was starting to feel two different sources of magic now, and both were moving away from him rapidly. The furthest one was the one he'd first noticed, and the more he tried to identify it, the more 'wrong' it seemed. The other, closer source 'tasted' better, familiar to him; Harry had the sense that it belonged in the forest while the first did not.

He was almost on top of whatever it…they…were when he came to a clearing. Looking down, he saw three huge wolves burst from the tree line, charging towards a lone figure that spun to face them.

Without conscious thought, Harry's wand was in his hand, an overpowered _Confringo_ sending the wolves tumbling. Dropping his disillusionment and leaning forward, Harry pushed the Nimbus so hard the twigs crackled, diving with the intention of doing a 'scoop and scoot'—grabbing the person and being away before the wolves could recover.

What he didn't expect was for a pale hand to reach out, grab his broom, and send him arse over teakettle across the clearing.

Instinctively, Harry ducked and rolled, protecting himself enough that he was only battered and bruised when he landed. Coming to his feet as quickly as he could, he reached out his hand and willed his wand into it. The satisfying slap of wood against palm and the sight of his (thank Merlin!) still-intact wand was exactly what he needed to focus on what had just happened to him.

Super-human speed and strength, enough to catch a professional racing broom moving at top speed and then hold it immobile. Pale skin and red eyes. Granted, it was daylight, but….

"What is this?" the figure was saying. Harry noticed distantly that it was a man. "Wolves I expected, but a little boy that flies on a broom like a witch? Are you a witch, little boy?" The voice was light, mocking.

Harry shrugged. The list of things that fit what he'd seen read vampire, vampire, vampire…and everything else. The man's next words confirmed it.

"I've never eaten a witch before. I wonder how you'll taste?"

"_Sectumsempra!_" Harry's wand was moving the instant he heard 'taste'. The shouted curse hit the vampire with a sound like a chisel hitting granite, and the spell knocked it back nearly a dozen feet.

"Oh, I _felt_ that, little witch-boy! You'll pay for that," the vampire said, and began to blur towards Harry.

Harry fully expected his spell to gut the vampire like a fish, and was shocked when it didn't. He didn't let it slow him down, which is probably the only reason he survived.

"_Deprimo! DEPRIMO! __**BOMBARDO!**_" he shouted rapidly, putting more magical strength into each successive spell.

In retrospect, Harry realized he'd probably overdone it, but at the time he'd been running on pure adrenaline. His first spell, rather than blowing a hole through the creature's chest, stopped it in its tracks. The second spell blew it into large chunks, and the last one—cast with the full power of a wizard some said rivaled Dumbledore or Merlin himself—turned the chunks into a cloud of fine powder.

Harry didn't wait to watch the dust cloud settle. Putting out his hand, he summoned his Nimbus silently, and was relieved to see that he hadn't blown it up along with the vampire. He thought he'd seen the thing drop his broom when it charged him, but he'd been too intent on not getting eaten to protect a replaceable broom. Distantly he was remembering something Hermione had told him about the different types of vampires, but he'd worry about that once he was safely away. He hadn't forgotten about those huge wolves, and wasn't in the mood to be eaten by them, either.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw them moving closer, and had his leg over the Nimbus in preparation for beating a hasty retreat when he heard a familiar voice.

"Harry? Wait! How did you…?"

Not believing what he was hearing, Harry looked over his shoulder at a very naked Jacob Black, flanked by two wolves.

"Oh, bugger," Harry said.

* * *

Jacob had no idea what the vampire had done to throw the wolves around like rag dolls, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from tearing the leech apart. A little mindless violence was just what he needed, and if it meant one less leech in the world, that was even better. He felt a chill when he saw the slight figure stand up in front of the bloodsucker; he shot a thought at Paul and Quil to be careful with the human when….

_Jacob, that's Harry!_ Quil's amazement shot through the three of them. Recognizing his imprint, Jacob gathered himself to leap between Harry and the vampire, even though part of him knew he'd never make it. Then, Harry pointed a stick at the undead thing and shouted…and the vampire was knocked backwards.

"I _felt_ that, little witch-boy! You'll pay for that!" Jacob heard the vampire clearly, and saw it start to blur forward…Harry was shouting again…and the vampire stopped, then exploded into a fine powder with the sound of a hundred concrete blocks all shattering at once.

Jacob and his friends were frozen in shock as Harry shook himself, then put out his hand. An old-fashioned broom rose up from where the vamp had dropped it to fly into Harry's outstretched hand, and Harry threw one leg over it like he was going to ride it into the sky.

Without thinking, Jacob shifted to his human form.

"Harry? Wait! How did you…?" He had a thousand questions he wanted, needed to ask, but he froze in place when emerald eyes met his.

"Oh, bugger."

* * *

Turning in place without dismounting his broom, Harry turned to look at a very shocked, very naked Jacob Black. _Well, there's no doubt he's a boy_ Harry's inner smartarse said, and Harry very much agreed. Oh, no, that Jacob was male was verifiably evident. _And it's a cool day_ the little smartarse voice said, and once again Harry was forced to agree. Sweet Merlin! Impressive though the view was, Harry was still hyped on adrenaline, and there were two huge wolves flanking Jacob. He didn't know how his friend had suddenly appeared, but they weren't out of danger yet.

"Jacob, I want you to walk slowly toward me," Harry said carefully. "Don't make any sudden moves, just come here." He'd briefly made eye contact with the Quileute, but quickly looked away…and now was focusing on the wolves that were just looking at him. Carefully, he brought his wand up, just in case.

"Harry, are you hurt?" Jacob didn't even try to disobey his imprint's commands, since what he wanted more than anything was to run to Harry and check him to reassure himself that the slight figure was uninjured. He'd worry about the rest of the world after he knew Harry was okay.

"Jacob, slowly. Don't spook them." Harry's voice was soft, anxious. "I don't want to hurt them, but if they attack I won't have any choice."

Confused, Jacob looked back over his shoulder. What was Harry talking about? All he saw was Quil and Paul. Granted, Paul was snarling—that was normal for him—but Quil's tongue was hanging out, and he was laughing.

Harry's hissed words cut through his confusion. "Jacob! Get over here! One of them is about to attack!" Jacob was close enough now to see that Harry was vibrating with fear and anger, and he suddenly realized just whom Harry thought was about to attack.

"No, Harry…they won't attack; it's fine." Turning, Jacob snarled at his Packmates. "Stop scaring him! Back off!" Quil bobbed his head and retreated a step, still laughing. Paul also retreated half a step, but only growled louder.

Jacob turned his back on the pair, ignoring them. "Harry, it's okay, really. It's just Quil, and Paul being a jerk," he said, trying to soothe his keyed-up imprint. "What did you do to that vampire? I've never seen…."

"Those wolves are _who_?" Harry's near-screech interrupted Jacob's question. Shock was immediately replaced by confusion, which quickly morphed into furious concentration. Harry's gaze unfocused and he began muttering to himself as he worked it out.

"Can't be werewolves, not in broad daylight. Must be…." Harry looked up, livid. "Why didn't you tell me you were animagi?" he demanded. He didn't know whether to be furious or deeply hurt that Jacob hadn't just told him he was a wizard. Surely he'd slipped up enough that the other young man should have figured it out…all the grief he'd been putting himself through, worrying about telling his friend about magic, and the git already knew!

"What's an…ani-what did you call it?" Jacob asked, even more confused by the emotions that were coming off Harry in waves than by his question.

"You know…plural of animagus," Harry snapped. "Why didn't you tell me you were a wizard, too?"

"Wizard? Harry, I'm not…wait a minute! You're a witch! The leech said so!" Jacob pointed at finger at Harry and grinned. "That is so cool! So, you really can fly on that broom? Can I try it? Will it work for me? Is that your wand? Can I…."

"I'm not a witch! Are you telling me you're not a wizard?" Harry face-palmed with his wand still in hand. "Oh, Morgana, I am in sooooo much trouble!" he moaned.

"Wha…? Harry, you're not in trouble. All you did was kill a leech! Nobody cares about that! Hell, the Elders will probably make you an honorary member of the tribe when they find out."

"No! Nobody can find out! They'll send me to wherever the Amis use instead of Azkaban!" Harry yelped.

Jacob shook his head. "Who'll send you away?" he asked. Then, "nobody's taking you away from me. They'll have to go through the entire Pack first," he finished grimly.

Harry just shook his head. "You don't understand. The Ami Aurors, or whatever they call them, will know I just violated the Statues of Secrecy. They'll come for me, and they'll Obliviate you three; probably to the point that you'll never even remember I existed." Then, he realized that Jacob was standing _right there_, and was still naked. "Oh, and could you put something on? Here," he said, conjuring a fluffy white bathrobe and handing it to Jacob.

"You just pulled this out of thin air! That is so cool!" Jacob grinned, then turned and threw on the robe. Belatedly, he remembered the shorts he had tied to his leg before beginning the patrol. "Just a sec," he said, bending down to retrieve them, then pulling them on under the robe.

Harry caught a glimpse of Jacob's muscled backside when he turned, and blushed to the tips of his ears when he realized that he liked the sight very much indeed. He was still blushing when Jacob turned back around, and it only got worse when Jacob grinned. Yes, the tall Quileute had noticed the blush.

"So…when do I get to ride your broomstick?" Jacob's smirk was just short of a leer, and he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Prat!" Harry laughed despite himself, and swatted the much bigger man. "Ow! You're like hitting a brick wall!" he said, shaking his injured hand.

"Serves you right," Jacob laughed out loud. His imprint was a wizard! Who else could say that? The rest of the Pack could just bite him right now, his imprint was a broom riding, stick waving—wait a sec, that had to be his _magic wand!_ –wand-waving, wizard! "Show me some magic!" he demanded.

"No," Harry sighed, resigned to his fate. "I don't want to make it worse. Maybe if I don't do anything else, I can say it was self-defense or something, and you three will be the only ones who know."

Now Jacob was confused again, despite his elation at his discovery. "No, the whole Pack; well, those who were shifted, anyway, they know already. Paul and Quil saw what you did; they're already talking about it," he said, not realizing that he'd not really explained the Pack's shared minds. "The rest of them will know as soon as one of the others tell them."

"Jacob, please, no! I don't want a team of Obliviators to show up and wipe the memories of the whole tribe! You've got to stop them!" Harry gasped. What had he done? Not even having killed the most evil Dark Lord in recent memory would protect him from a violation of the Statues this big. "They can't know!" he screamed, his adrenaline spiking once more.

"Harry, only the Pack will know, and we have to keep it secret, too." Jacob reached out and pulled his hysterical imprint into his arms. "We'll protect you and your secret, just like we protect ours. Nobody's going to take you away from me. I won't let them, and Sam won't let them, either."

"Suh…Sam?" Harry's voice was muffled by the robe he was sobbing into.

"Sam's the Pack Alpha," Jacob explained, soothingly. "He's like…the boss."

"I know what a werewolf pack alpha is," Harry sniffed. "I'm not totally stupid." He was, however, angry with himself for crying like a little kid in Jacob's arms. At the same time, he was in absolutely no hurry to leave the warm, comfortable embrace.

"Werewolves aren't real," Jacob said, then stopped. He could turn into a wolf, and did so to fight vampires. His imprint was a wizard who (he thought) flew on a broom and used a magic wand. So, why not werewolves? And, what else was out there that he'd never thought about?

"Shows what you know," Harry answered him from where his head was pressed against Jacob's chest—a position Jacob highly approved, and might let Harry leave in a few decades. "One of my best professors was a werewolf."

Jacob didn't say anything, just kept holding and stroking his imprint's back while he processed that. Harry'd been extremely vague about where he'd gone to school, only saying that it was a 'boarding school in Scotland'. Well, if it was a magic school, then having a werewolf for a professor probably wasn't that unusual. Jacob found his thoughts drifting, wondering just what a magic school would be like and how hard he'd have to beg to get to see it….

Paul, human again (and thank Merlin! Wearing shorts—Harry peeked), came up, still growling.

"Quil's gone back to tell Sam," he snarled. Then, begrudgingly, his voice softened. "Did you really dust that leech?"

Harry pulled back slightly, liking the pressure of Jacob's arms as they tried to hold him close. "Yes, I did. I thought it was some poor helpless muggle, about to be eaten by a horde of rabid wolves," he snapped. "I was right about everything but the muggle part, wasn't I?"

Paul ignored Jacob's protest of 'I don't have rabies' and nodded. "Yeah. We kill leeches. It's what we do." Despite being taller than Harry, Paul found the smaller man refusing to break his eye contact.

"And I kill Dark wizards," Harry shot back. "It's what I do. Dark creatures, too. Don't make me put you on the list," he said coldly.

Paul just snorted. "I'd like to see you try," he said, then backed up when a stick suddenly appeared between his eyes.

"You wouldn't see it," Harry hissed. "Now, back off!" Paul saw the wand tip jerk slightly, and then he was tumbling back across the grass. He'd just started to come to his feet, intending to break the little jerk in half, when suddenly…he couldn't move!

Paul began to panic as he half-crouched, frozen, while the puny little Brit walked over to him casually. The messy-haired kid had laid down what looked like a broom—and how stupid was that? –and was twirling his stick between his fingers casually. He could see Jacob standing back, arms crossed, watching what he obviously saw as a dominance game being played out, so there'd be no help from Black. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but as soon as he could move again, that little boy was going to know what real hurt was….

"Right now, you're probably thinking about how badly you're going to hurt me when the paralysis wears off," the green-eyed punk was saying. He might have been discussing the weather, for all he sounded like he cared. Then, he leaned down and looked directly into Paul's eyes, and Paul started to be afraid as Harry hissed, "Guess what? It doesn't wear off. I can leave you here until this time next year if I want. And, if you ever threaten me or Jacob again, I will."

Paul did manage to blink at that. Did the kid know about the imprint? Was that why he was so protective of Black?

Harry was speaking again, his voice low and dangerous. "What you don't know, puppy," he said, making the term an insult, "is that I banished my first Dark Lord when I was just a toddler. When I was eleven, I dealt with a Cerberus—that's a three-headed dog bigger than you," he sneered for emphasis, "then fought a grown wizard who was possessed by that Dark Lord's spirit. When I was twelve I killed a sixty-foot basilisk with a sword—that's a snake that can kill you with its gaze, by the way." Harry went to one knee, which put him at eye level with Paul without having to bend over. "I've faced dragons, and spiders the size of a small house, and werewolves—one of whom was the father of my godson, and a good friend—and trolls, and giants, and what you call zombies, and a wizard so evil he split his soul into seven pieces, just so he could live forever. I killed him, because among other things, I'm the Master of sodding Death! So if you think you scare me, you'd better think again, because you don't. Yes, I also have a 'saving people' thing; I didn't know there were any other magical creatures around here. When I saw what looked like a muggle about to be killed by wolves, I tried to rescue him. If I'd known what was what…." Harry sighed. "I still don't know what the bloody hell is going on around here, and telling you this won't matter anyway, because it'll all be Oblivated out of your thick skull, but I hope you remember this: Do. Not. Mess. With. Me. Now, I'm about to remove the spell. Do we dance, or can we start over?"

With that, Paul collapsed, his body free to move once again. He looked up, to see a smiling Harry Potter standing over him, hand extended.

"Hi, I'm Harry Potter! Need a hand?" the boy asked cheerfully.

Not trusting himself to speak, Paul only nodded and took the offered hand. Once on his feet, he gave it a shake, and couldn't help but return Harry's radiant smile with a small one of his own.

* * *

They'd wound up racing back to Jacob's house, and the wolves discovered (somewhat to their chagrin) that Harry's broom was faster than they were. Of course, Harry explained that he was a very good flier (Jacob wondered briefly if there wasn't anything his imprint couldn't or hadn't done) and his broom was a top of the line racing model. That led to several amusing moments as most of the Pack wanted to try it themselves—apparently shifters didn't have the right kind of magical core to use a broom's enchantments, no matter how hard they jumped with it between their legs—then to Harry giving rides to first Jacob, then Quil, then Seth before Sam arrived to put a stop to the fun.

Seth had pouted when he hadn't been the first to ride with Harry, but the others just laughed at him. As if Jacob would let anyone else be the first behind his imprint on that tiny little broom!

Sam, despite Harry's offer of his own ride, immediately dragged the entire Pack to his house, where Billy Black was already waiting for them. Sam reasoned that, since Harry was worried about the potential fallout from the afternoon, Billy needed to be there as a representative of the Elders. The Alpha was worried about what little he'd learned about the possibility of wizards coming and erasing the memories of the Pack, and knew that Billy could not only keep a secret but was also influential enough to rally the Tribe to protect Harry if that became necessary.

Despite most of the Pack having shifted to 'see' the afternoon directly, Sam insisted that Billy be given a complete description of what had happened, from everyone's viewpoint. Once Harry, then Jacob, then Quil and Paul had finished (Harry, Jacob and Paul didn't mention the little 'conversation' Harry and Paul had after Quil left, but the Pack already knew, and were looking at Harry in a new light), Billy just leaned back, harrumphed, and sat there silently, looking at Harry.

Finally, Harry couldn't take it any more. "I'm sorry, Billy. I never meant to bring this trouble to your doorstep. I'll be gone by this time tomorrow."

Jacob's yelp of dismay was cut off as Paul and Embry pulled him back down into his seat. Everyone else wanted to hear Billy's response.

"Why?" was all the Elder asked, looking directly into Harry's eyes.

"Why?" Harry repeated. "Because, if I leave, then maybe the Amis won't bother you, and the Pack's secret will be safe," he sighed. "I don't know where I'll go…Australia, maybe…but I won't endanger you or the Tribe. No, it's just better if I disappear again," he finished.

Only Embry's hand over his mouth kept Jacob from yelling, and despite several pairs of hands on him he almost came out of his chair. He didn't realize what his father was saying until Paul hissed into his ear to shut up and listen.

"…So if killing a leech is all you're worried about, don't be," Billy said, waving the issue away. "That some of our men, and now women," he nodded at a scowling Leah, "have the ability to shift is because they're our protectors from the Cold Ones. You killed the vampire on Tribal lands, right?" he asked, and nodded when Paul and Quil confirmed it. Jacob was just sitting there, being held back and muted, glaring at his father and imprint. "Tribe land, tribe law. No one else has any say over what happens there, and none of the Elders will be anything but grateful to have another protector watching over the Tribe." He shrugged, then grinned. "I do think we need to have a long talk about this magic of yours, and you need to know about our secrets, too."

"I…don't know how the American magical government will react to that," Harry admitted carefully. "I really haven't had any contact with them, other than when I entered the country."

Billy nodded. "There's another story there, but it can wait a few days, I'm thinking. In the meantime, I'm hungry! Who's cooking?"

Harry shrugged, uncaring, as he pulled out his wallet. "Why don't we send someone for take-away?" he asked, taking a handful of bills out. "Who wants to go?" he asked, knowing that Jacob probably wouldn't volunteer.

"I'll go," Brady stood up and strode over to Harry. Looking down, he shook himself when he saw the numbers on the bills Harry was trying to hand him. "Harry? All this?" he protested.

Harry grinned and shrugged. "I know how you lot eat. I think Billy and I would like some, too, without having to fight you beasts for a sandwich," he joked, pressing the wad into Brady's hands. "Inheritance, remember? Spend it all; we can always cold box the leftovers".

Grinning, Brady vanished out the door, a confirmed member of the Harry Potter Fan Club.

"Now, there's something else we need to discuss, Harry," Billy said sternly. Harry nodded and moved to sit down in front of Jacob, who immediately wrapped his arms around the smaller man, shrugging off the hands that had been restraining him.

"The American Ministry, except they call it a 'Department'," Harry nodded. He leaned back into Jacob's warm strength, determined to enjoy it as long as he could.

Billy nodded once to show he heard. "Regardless of what 'they' call it, this is a Reservation. By treaty and law, this is Quileute land, and the regular American government is very limited in the authority they have here."

"I really don't know if the Amis will respect that or not," Harry said, so intent on Billy that he didn't notice the stiffening of various bodies around the room. "The Ministry in Britain wouldn't give a fig; they'd come in, do what they thought was needed, and Obliviate any muggles that stood in their way. Of course, they'd also probably label the Pack 'dark creatures'," he made the quote marks in the air with his fingers. "And at the very least, make you all register with the Ministry. British wizards aren't very tolerant of creatures," he explained, shaking his head at the stupidity of his homeland's Ministry.

"We _kill _dark creatures! We're not dark ourselves!" was the general tenor of the outbursts following Harry's statement.

"The Ministry wouldn't care," Harry shrugged and look up at Jacob. They're idiots like that," he said more softly, smiling up at his friend. Then, Harry looked back at his friend's father. "Like I said, I really don't know what the Ami's policy is."

"I think we need to find out, as soon as possible," Billy said. "Regardless, Harry, I don't want you to worry. Until we get this settled, I don't want you to leave the Reservation for any reason. Understand?"

Harry shrugged. Billy thought that, by keeping him on the Reservation, the Ami Aurors couldn't get to him to arrest him. Harry really didn't want to frighten his friends by telling them that not even the Pack could stop a group of determined wizards, so he kept quiet.

"Leah and I can get your stuff," Seth volunteered, then yelped when Leah punched him. "Ow! What was that for?" he complained.

"I'm not his errand girl," Leah snapped.

"No, but you will help Seth get enough of Harry's things for him to be comfortable on the Rez for a few days," Sam shot back, using just a touch of Alpha voice. "Harry not only killed a vamp today, but he did it because he thought he was protecting an innocent. If we have to protect him for a few days, so be it," he finished. Then, in a more normal voice, he looked at Harry and grinned. "Not that I think he needs much protecting, but until we know what the legal aspects of him being here are, I'm not willing to take any chances."

"You just want him around so you can make him patrol with us," someone laughed.

"Maybe," Sam grinned. "Sue me if I want to have Harry with us the next time we have a leech invasion."

"Wait a minute? You have invasions of vampires?" Harry squeaked. Just what had he gotten himself into? All he wanted was a nice, quiet life; not to be pressed into service as a full-time vampire hunter!

"Only every couple of years," Sam assured him, still grinning. "Oh, and I guess we'll have to teach you which vamps not to kill," he said. "There's this family of 'vegetarian' vamps in Forks that we have a treaty with. Well, we call them 'veggies', but they really eat animals only, not people," he said, and went on to give Harry a brief run-down on the Cullens and their encounters with the Pack.

"Wonderful," Harry said when Sam finished. "And here I thought all I had to worry about was a dragon wandering away from the preserve," he shook his head.

"Dragons!?" "PRESERVE!?" "DRAGONS ARE REAL?!"

Harry spent the next few minutes being forced to explain about dragons, and dragon preserves, and dragon keepers—"You know a dragon keeper?" –and denying that he could arrange tours, and _NO! _Jacob couldn't have one as a pet, they were dangerous and yes he'd fought one but that was when he was fourteen….

Harry was only saved by the return of Brady, his arms full of bags of burgers, fries, and other completely unhealthy foods…and a sack full of salads for the 'wimps'.

Harry made a mental note to always have food on hand, in case he ever needed to distract a bunch of overly curious and enthusiastic shapeshifters.

**A/N:** As promised, another chapter. There are almost certainly some discrepancies between this story and 'Obstinate Elders'; this story wasn't even dreamed up with that one was written, and I chose to 'go with the flow' of this story. The two actually occur in adjacent, highly similar but not identical parallel universes, in case you're wondering.

The "Harry and Jacob meet in a laundromat" plot has been done several times, so I used it here, as well. Ditto the Harry/Jacob 'dragon preserve near the Rez'. Yep, I've lost my notes on where I saw ALL those stories, as per usual-if they're yours, PM me and I'll hat tip you next chapter. You should all know me well enough by now to know that's just how it goes.

Reviews are running about one in 8 or 9 for Follows, which is pretty much par for the course. Thanks to all of you who bothered; I'll try to send a reply back as soon as I can. I can either answer emails, or write/edit stuff, not both at once. Reviews do make Plot Bunny happy-he's sitting on the cable box staring at me right now... Please help keep Plot Bunny happy...I'm begging you! *quails in fear under the searing gaze of Plot Bunny*

**Next Chapter:** Will Harry go to prison for violating the Statues of Secrecy? Can Jacob and the Pack protect him from the wrath of the American Department of Magical Affairs? Will Harry and Jacob ever have "The Imprint Talk"? Will Harry use his awesome magical power to break the imprint bond? Will Harry and Jacob survive to get to the hot smoochies, must less the wedding bells stage? Wouldn't it be a bummer of a story if they didn't? Is this enough with the stupid questions?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Harry and the Pack deal with the American Department of Magical Affairs, and then the boys finally have The Imprint Talk. Yes, those are wedding bells you're hearing. The Pack suffer a great disappointment after the wedding.

**WARNING AND DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1. Yep, still SLASH with future MPREG.**

**CHAPTER 3**

Part of the paperwork Harry'd been given upon entering the country had been instructions on how to contact the American Department of Magical Affairs. Rather than owls, the Amis used a variation of the portkey spell to send documents. Harry and Billy, with Sam and Jacob's input, wrote a letter that briefly explained what had happened, stated that all of Harry's actions had occurred on Tribal lands and therefore fell under Tribal jurisdiction, and that no official action against Harry was necessary. They took pains to make it seem like a friendly 'this happened, and we thought you'd like to know, even though it's none of your business, this is just us trying to play nice' document while firmly establishing the Tribe's authority. They admitted the violation of the international Statues of Secrecy, but hinted that the Tribe had its own magical knowledge, so no harm, no foul. When they were finally satisfied, Harry sent it off in a flash of light—Jacob proclaimed it 'cool'—and they sat back to wait for a response.

They didn't have long to wait.

* * *

Agent Andrew Scoggins of the Seattle office of the Department of Magical Affairs was having a relatively good day. He'd just gotten his second cup of coffee—black, three sugars, shot of hazelnut syrup—when a memo appeared in his 'In' box. A glance told him it was urgent, so he sat his cup down and pulled it out.

Shortly thereafter, when his eyebrows came back down, he picked up the phone and called his supervisor on the direct line.

"Stafford," the crisp voice announced.

"Mr. Stafford, we have a problem."

* * *

After Harry sent the letter off, he relaxed in Jacob's embrace—he refused to call it 'cuddling', since that would have implied something he wasn't ready to face just yet—then announced that he wanted to cook something. Drafting a willing Jacob and Sam, Harry proceeded to raid Billy's pantry then send the pair of shifters to the market with a long list of things he absolutely had to have and don't come back without them!

Sam and Jacob hadn't dawdled. No one wanted to leave Harry and Billy alone and unprotected for very long, so Sam called some the Pack to come over. He was relieved and more than a bit amused when he returned to find Quil and Jared being introduced to the concept of 'proper tea, not that swill you Amis drink'.

Harry was halfway through the preparation of a cheesecake when a knock came at the front door. Billy caught Sam's eye and waited until the Alpha was in the center of the room, with plenty of room to shift around him, before wheeling over to open it. He wasn't too surprised to see two men in suits and long coats standing there.

"Mr. Black? I understand that you have a Mr. Harry Potter here?" the older one in front asked politely.

"Depends on who's asking," Billy looked up, his face neutral. "This is the Quileute Reservation, and I'm one of the tribe's Elders. Is there a problem?"

Both men reached into their coats and pulled out their identity papers. "I'm Director of the regional office of the Department of Magical Affairs, Mark Stafford. This is Agent Scoggins, of the same office. May we come in?"

"Do you have a warrant?" Billy demanded.

"Do we need to get one?" the younger man in back snapped, then shut up when his boss glared at him.

"No, sir, Mr. Black, we don't have a warrant. We're not aware of any circumstances that might require a warrant. This is just a friendly visit in response to a letter we received earlier this morning."

Billy looked at the man carefully. The Director didn't appear to be hiding anything, but Billy was very much aware of how much he didn't know about these people, and what they might be capable of. Frankly, Harry's stories scared the willies out of Billy Black in a way that vampires never had.

"I'd like to know a bit more about why you're here before I ask you into my home," Billy said carefully. He knew it was rude, but didn't much give a damn.

The Director sighed. "My office received a letter this morning giving this as the return address for one Mr. Harry Potter, formerly of Great Britain. Apparently there was some kind of encounter with a dark creature in the area, and Mr. Potter was informing us of that encounter. There is also a question regarding the possible violation of the international Statues of Secrecy regarding the magical world, but Mr. Potter's letter indicated that only magicals were involved." He paused, waiting for some response, but Billy just sat there, unmoving. "This visit is merely a formality, I assure you," Stafford continued, keeping his second sigh on the inside. "Normally I wouldn't be personally involved, but considering who Mr. Potter is…." he trailed off.

"He's under the protection and authority of the Quileute Tribe, is what he is," Billy answered. "If you understand that, then you can come in."

Stafford nodded, although the other man turned beet red at Billy's assertion. "I understand that is your position," Stafford said carefully. "My hope is that we can confirm that with this meeting." He made no move towards the door.

Billy stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged. "As long as you recognize that this is Quileute land," he said, then backed away from the door. "Come on in and make yourself at home. This is Sam Uley, he's one of the tribe; Sam, make introduction, won't you? I've got to get back into the kitchen," Billy lied, leaving the two agents to Sam and his backup to get Harry. A brief vision of his home being demolished as angry wolves tore the agents to shreds flashed through his mind, but he suppressed it ruthlessly. This was not the time to go off half-cocked.

If Billy's house got destroyed, it got destroyed. Harry brought up that very possibility when they were writing the letter, but Billy was the one to insist that Harry use his address, rather than the old Black house. "It gives us more legal standing, if your official address is here on the Rez," Billy pointed out, and no one could really argue with that. Of course, Harry then spent several earnest minutes insisting that he would replace or repair any damage that occurred 'because of him'. Billy let him go on, all the while making a mental note to speak with Jacob—soon—about having the 'imprint talk' with Harry. Since Harry was effectively already family, the young Brit needed to learn that family didn't worry about things like that until _after_ the family was safe.

"Harry, they're here. Two men claiming they're from the Seattle office," Billy said quietly.

Harry froze, then put down the bowl he'd been stirring. "I…this won't be fit to eat if I leave it," he said quietly, then shrugged. "Let me wash my hands," he went on, obviously resigned to loosing the batch.

"You still owe me a cheesecake," Jacob said, nudging Harry as he washed up alongside his imprint.

"Maybe they'll put me to work in the prison kitchen," Harry said morosely, then gasped as he was spun around.

"Stop it! They're NOT taking you!" Jacob hissed quietly. "Just…stop it! Please?" he cajoled, anger giving way to begging in an instant.

Harry returned a wan smile, dried his hands on his pants, checked his wand in its concealed holster, and nodded. "I'll be fine. Just…keep Billy safe if things go pear shaped."

"They won't," Jacob replied with conviction.

"They said this was just a formality," Billy said with more confidence than he felt. Well, maybe it was. They'd find out soon enough.

Billy led the way back into the living room, Harry following him with Jacob guarding Harry's back. Harry moved off to one side away from the older man in the wheelchair, and Jacob followed him to stand slightly behind and between Harry and Billy, ready to protect one or both at need.

Both Agents eyes narrowed as they noticed the positions the trio had taken, as well as the fact that several other large men were in the room with them. They'd taken seats on Billy's battered old couch, and both were a bit intimidated by the glares they were getting from the entire room.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said. "I wrote the letter."

"Mr. Potter, I'm Director Stafford and this is Agent Scoggins of the Department of Magical Affairs. We received you letter this morning, and we have a few questions, if you don't mind?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally, and Stafford took that as permission to continue. "I understand that yesterday you had an encounter with a vampire, and you were forced to destroy it in self-defense?"

Harry nodded but continued to remain silent.

"And you believe that other magicals witnessed your use of magic in this act of self-defense, and wished to assure our Department that no significant violation of the Secrecy Statues occurred?"

Again, Harry gave a silent nod. In his mind, he was back in the chair in Courtroom Ten, bound by magical chains and looking up at the Wizengamot.

Jacob felt the negative emotions coming off his imprint, and gently put his hand on the small of Harry's back. Feeling Harry press back into his hand told him all he needed to know, and he felt a snarl form on his face.

The tension in the room shot up as the other wolves and the Agents all responded to Jacob and Harry's tension. Stafford gritted his teeth and tried to diffuse the situation.

"Mr. Potter…or should I call you Lord Potter, or Lord Black?" he asked carefully. Harry's file had been hastily summoned from Washington, and several people had…interesting…reactions when they realized just who had sent that letter to his office.

Harry shrugged once more, ignoring the looks he was now getting from the Quileutes. "Just Harry is fine. I thought you Amis didn't recognize titles and such."

Stafford smiled tightly. "Normally we don't, but it never hurts to be polite. Now, about the vampire you killed…."

"It was out and about in broad daylight, and was very spell-resistant," Harry said tiredly. "I basically had to blow it up before it ate me," he said. "It sounded like I was shooting spells at rocks," he finished, not knowing what else to say.

"I take it that you've never encountered that particular type of vampire before?" the younger Agent said, before his superior could speak.

Again Harry shrugged. "Never really 'encountered' many of any kind," he said. "Killed a few of the regular kind, but you know about the war," he said. It really wasn't a question.

Both Agents shrugged while the Pack looked on, stunned. Harry had been in a war, and killed leeches? He'd only really talked about creatures, and that Dark Lord, hadn't he?

Stafford quelled his underling with a glance before continuing. "Yes, we're well aware of your history, Mr. Potter. That's one of the reasons this courtesy visit is being made. My Department has never had the opportunity to express our own appreciation for your efforts against the Dark Lord Voldemort."

Harry's shrugs were getting to be a habit. "That's okay. It's not like I had much choice in the matter."

"We have become aware that there were prophesies involved," Stafford nodded, then noticed Harry's look. "Our own Predictions Division was…not unaware of the situation, but all indications were that the situation would be satisfactorily resolved." he said. "Several offers of assistance were made, but were rejected by your Ministry," he continued, not liking the look on Harry's face.

Harry felt himself turning red, but nodded at that last. "I'm not surprised; we seem to have the knack for picking idiots as Ministers, don't we?" he said bitterly.

"I'd…rather not comment on that," Stafford said neutrally, while Scoggins just snorted. "However, I can reassure you that, had we been asked, we would have been glad to provide you with whatever assistance was needed."

"Thanks, I guess," Harry shook his head. "Some more help would have been nice, but then that would have been too much to ask, for Fudge or Scrimgeour to actually admit they needed it. It's done with."

"Mr. Potter…." Stafford began, only to be cut off.

"Just Harry, please."

"Of course, Harry," the Director smiled. "Could you sit down? I've got several more questions, most of which are a formality, but we do have to fill out a report," he smiled. Apparently the Man Who Won was familiar with governmental red tape, at least on some level, if the look on his face was any indication.

Harry gave the first smile he'd seen, and moved to take a seat off to one side. The Agents shared a glance at how the room shifted when Harry moved, especially how the large young man who'd followed him into the room stayed glued to Harry's side.

"I'll answer as best I can," Harry said, once everyone was settled. "I don't know how much I can add to what I said in the letter, though."

"Your description of the encounter was more than adequate," Stafford said easily. "My only concern is that you mentioned other magicals in the area, and we're not aware of any sizable population of wizards…."

"Tribal business. Not your concern," Billy Black broke in firmly. "Everything that happened, happened on our land, and it was our people who saw it. We know about magic, and our people were using magic here long before you white men came." He crossed his arms, obviously feeling that the matter was settled.

"We can't have a population of secret magicals literally under our noses!" Scoggins snapped before the Director could stop him.

"What Agent Scoggins means is that…" Stafford began.

"I heard him! Did he hear me? Tribal land, tribal business! Not yours!" Billy glared, and the other Quileute shifted restlessly. "And I wouldn't go for your wands, either," Billy said. "Harry's not the only magical in the room, and he's under Tribal jurisdiction," the elder Black reminded the intruders. "And protection," he added, just to make the point clear.

"I understand that, but there are going to be questions asked," Stafford tried again. "It'll be easier if we can answer them now, so the matter can be closed."

"Or what? You'll take Harry away? Not happening!" Jacob declared, dropping a hand to his imprint's shoulder. He wasn't bothering to hide his snarl, and the entire room felt his power as he spoke.

"Easy, Jacob," Sam used the Alpha voice. It worked…for now…but he knew that it did only because Jacob wasn't fighting it. That was something they'd have to settle eventually, but not today. Not when they had other enemies to face down. "You heard our Elder, white man," he sneered, turning to Stafford. "Harry's ours, and you can't have him!"

"We don't want him!" Scoggins snapped, his instinctive reach for his wand stopped by his Director's hand on his arm.

"Wait outside," Stafford's voice left no room for argument. Despite the mutinous look on his face, Scoggins stood and stamped out the door, which Quil shut firmly behind him.

"I apologize for Agent Scoggins' unseemly behavior," Stafford said, frantically trying to salvage the situation. "I have no intention of taking Mr. Potter anywhere at this time." Then, he started. "Did you think we were coming here to arrest him?" he asked, shocked. Then, he surprised everyone in the room with a bark of laughter. "Do you realize what arresting the Boy Who Lived would be like? Aside from creating an international incident, the press would go ape-shit over it! I'd probably be reassigned as liaison to the yeti village in Alaska! No, thank you!" he shook his head. "No one's going to arrest Harry Potter, unless it's for something so blatantly stupid that we can't avoid it. There's nothing I've read or heard today that makes me think anything like that's happened, so no," he repeated. "I'm sorry if that's the impression you had," he said, honestly meaning it.

"Harry was afraid of it," Jacob said, as if that explained everything. "He's my im…friend," he caught himself, "and we're not going to let you take him."

"And I don't want to take him, so it's not an issue," Stafford said. He'd heard the verbal stumble and his instincts were going crazy, but he was on shaky enough ground as it was. "I assure you, Mr. Potter isn't in any trouble with my Department. I will have to sign off on the report that goes to Washington, but since I'll be the one writing it," he shrugged. "Self defense has always been an acceptable defense for any number of extreme acts, including what the Brits call the 'Unforgivable Curses'." Stafford noticed that Potter's interest was piqued by this last, and decided that he needed to have a talk with the extraordinary young man, preferably away from prying eyes and ears, soonest. "As long as I can truthfully say that no violation of the Secrecy laws occurred, then no harm done."

"I'll swear a magical oath to that effect, if you want," Harry said. Stafford nodded, but couldn't help notice that several others in the room seemed to be offended that Harry would even offer.

"This isn't Europe, Mr. Potter. A simple sworn statement or affidavit will be more than sufficient." Stafford smiled, and the tension in the room dropped markedly. "As for it being the business of the Quileute Tribe, well, that's not going to make my life any easier," he shrugged. "But, the law is very clear about that. If your tribal Elders," he looked at Billy Black, who nodded, "say it's their business, then I don't have any jurisdiction in the matter."

Stafford leaned back, outwardly relaxed but paying close attention to the nonverbal conversations flying around the room. Harry, his escort, Uley and Black were looking at each other, while the other two watched Harry's escort and Uley carefully. It was obvious that the pair—they'd been introduced to him as Jared and Quil—were there as 'muscle' in case something went wrong. As big as they both were, Stafford didn't doubt that they'd be able to easily handle any mundane dumb enough to provoke them. And, there was something…odd…about the magical atmosphere in the room that he'd never encounter in all his years with the Department. The Quileutes were obviously hiding something on their Reservation, and at some point it'd be his job to find out just what that something was. That, however, was a task for another day.

In short order, the foursome across from Stafford reached a conclusion, with nods from each of them just before Harry sighed and turned back to the Director.

"I'm a bit surprised you don't want a magical oath, or Veritiserum," Potter said softly. "My own Ministry would probably insist on both, and probably a pensieve memory along with it."

Stafford looked like he'd bitten into something bitter. "No doubt." At Harry's questioning look, he grimaced. "I spent some time at our Embassy in London a couple of decades back," he said. "I was…less than impressed with how your Ministry dealt with a number of issues. No, Mr. Potter…Harry…we do things a bit differently here."

Harry's grin lit up the room. "So…no prison for me?"

Stafford shook his head. "Not today. Unless you've got a few bodies stacked in that shed I saw when I came in?" he smiled back.

Harry shook his head. "No, but I have cheesecake batter going bad in the kitchen right now. Would you mind terribly if we talked while I finished it?"

Stafford put a grim expression on his face. "On one condition."

Harry was instantly wary, as were the other large men in the room. Jacob Black just looked murderous.

Stafford decided now was not the time to joke around. "I want a cup of coffee while we talk. I'll send Agent Scoggins out, if you don't have any."

Harry made a sour face (he wasn't the only one), then laughed. "You Amis and your coffee! Yes, but I'll have to make a fresh pot. Some people," he said, mock-glaring at Billy Black, "keep drinking it as fast as I make it."

"My house, my coffee," Billy answered serenely. "I'd love a cup, thank you."

Still laughing, Harry stood. "Come on back, Director. Do you like regular or dark roast?"

* * *

The next few hours were a bit surreal for both Stafford and Scoggins, but in a surprisingly good way.

Scoggins was allowed to return to the house after a quick talk with his Director, and spent most of the rest of the visit sitting off in a corner, his face carefully neutral. He was polite when given coffee and 'biscuits', but really didn't warm up until Harry presented him with a piece of fresh cheesecake.

"Oh my God, this is wonderful!" he enthused, which made Harry blush.

Stafford agreed that the cheesecake was indeed wonderful, and wasn't terribly surprised when Harry doled out one slice apiece then magically locked it away.

"That's for pudding tonight," he said, completely unaffected by the dark and evil looks sent his way.

For his part, Mark Stafford found himself thoroughly amazed by the young Brit. He'd met a couple of wizards in South America who claimed to have killed Dark Lords—the running joke in America was that the USA didn't have Dark Lords; their evil wizards all went into politics—and both of them had been so full of themselves it was a miracle their heads fit through doors. Harry Potter, on the other hand, was polite, soft-spoken and self-effacing to the point of ridiculousness.

Stafford didn't need to be a Sensitive to see that the Brit was also crushing, and being crushed on, by a completely infatuated Jacob Black, Billy's son and probably future Elder. Not that he particularly cared, but it meant that Harry Potter might well be in his backyard for the foreseeable future. That being the case….

"Harry, I need to ask you something," Stafford said, putting down his cup carefully and making sure his hands were empty and on the table in plain sight.

"Yes, Mark?" Harry looked up from dicing apples.

"Actually, there are several things I want to ask, but first…why do you do all your cooking the mundane way?"

"Mundane? Oh, you mean muggle," Harry shrugged. "It's how I learned, and it's safer," he said.

Stafford nodded. "That makes sense. I guess…I'm so used to seeing it done the other way, or with a food processor."

"Married a witch, eh?" Harry smiled, then went back to chopping. "A lady I know, mother of seven, uses magic in the kitchen all the time. I guess with her lot, she needs all the help she can get." Then, Harry looked up at Jacob, and across the room where Brady, Quil, Sam and Billy were not peeling potatoes or snapping beans as he'd asked them to. "Although, considering the bottomless holes I have to feed around here, I might have to start," he said, waving his hand at the foursome.

All four yelped or grunted, glared at Harry, and went back to the potatoes and beans grudgingly while Jacob snickered at them. Stafford didn't say anything, since he was working hard not to show his amazement at the casual use of wandless, silent magic. Then, he mentally berated himself. This young man—still a boy in many ways—had done things most wizards decades his senior couldn't even imagine. That he could jinx his kitchen help like that shouldn't have surprised him. That made his next question even more critical.

"Harry…I hate to ask, but…." he paused.

"Yes, Mark," Harry asked, focused on his apples.

"Given your record, if we need you…if something big comes along and we can't handle it out of local resources in a timely fashion…I may have to ask you for help," he finished lamely. He didn't know of any circumstances that would require him bringing in the Boy Who Lived (or was it now the Man Who Won? He'd have to check on that), but the prudent thing to do was to set it up now, before the need arose.

Harry froze, then slowly looked up. "What are you asking me to do?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing right now, and there's nothing I know about coming down the pike, either," Stafford raised both hands placatingly. "Look at it from my point of view: there's a powerful wizard in my territory with experience dealing with a truly nasty Dark Lord. Say something equally terrible comes along. Wouldn't you like to have that wizard on your team?" he asked.

"I…really don't want to do that kind of thing anymore," Harry sighed.

"I hope I never have to call, but I'll sleep better at night knowing I can call, if I absolutely have to," Stafford pushed.

"I don't know what I can do that your magical government can't," Harry looked uncertain, and Jacob was starting to growl.

"For one thing, it wouldn't be 'just you'," Stafford said quickly. "If I need you, it'll be as part of a team, with the full backing of our office and Department. I can't imagine what it was like, having basically no support from your Ministry; that's just beyond idiotic," he finished.

"Agreed," Harry nodded grimly.

"Like I said, I'm not talking about anything specifically, I'm just trying to cover all the bases now, while I'm here personally. Although, I'd like you to come to Seattle to my office, so I can buy you lunch and introduce you around. I'd expect you to bring an escort, of course," he said, looking from Jacob to Billy and back again. "You're something of a pop star over here, and when you go out in wizarding Seattle you'll need it," he said honestly.

Harry started to face palm, then realized his hands were covered in apple juice. "Merlin! I wanted to get away from all that."

"Two words: disillusion charm," Stafford grinned. "Or a glamor. You could always disguise him," he nodded at a still-snarling Jacob, "as a Sasquatch. He's big enough, and they're not an uncommon site. Not common, but not that uncommon."

"He is big enough." Harry and Jacob made faces at each other. Stafford wondered when he'd be getting the wedding announcement, and began making mental notes about which appliances seemed to be missing from the kitchen. There was already a toaster, but he didn't see a blender.

"Exactly. No one messes with a 'Squatch, so that'd keep the paparazzi away. If you can't manage a glamor, I can arrange a medallion or something," he finished lamely. The day Harry Potter couldn't glamor himself would be the day hell iced over, he thought.

Harry looked thoughtful. "I would like to do some shopping, but I'm not familiar with anywhere outside of Forks and the Reservation," he admitted.

"Just let me know a few days in advance, and I'll set up a tour for you," Stafford smiled. "It's in my best interests for you to be comfortable in the area. Also, I can make a call to the San Francisco office, set up the same deal there, if you'd like to see the largest magical district on this coast," he baited the hook. "I think Seattle's better, but San Fran is San Fran. The Director there is a friend of mine, and he's good people," he finished. That it would make Tom Hastings, Director of the San Francisco office turn green with envy that Harry Potter was on good terms with one Mark Stafford was just gravy, as far as Stafford was concerned.

Jacob Black wasn't scowling, but was still concerned about his boyfriend's safety. "I don't want Harry mobbed by any stupid fan-girls," he said flatly.

"Like I said, we can glamor you as a 'Squatch. I'll have medallions for you, and a few friends run up, so you can accompany him basically anywhere. You might have trouble in some stores and restaurants, but aside from that," he shrugged, "I don't think you'll have any problems. Like I said, no one messes with a 'Squatch."

"Make one to turn Harry into a baby 'Squatch," Sam suggested, then dodged a piece of apple that barely missed his head. Stafford noticed the man's speed, as well as the speed of Harry's reaction. "What? Harry, you're about the right size, aren't you? From what little I know, 'Squatchs have been known to dismember grizzly bears that threatened their young. If people think you're a kid 'Squatch, that'll be extra protection, won't it?"

"I'm not a kid," Harry huffed, but he didn't disagree.

"I think he'd make a cute baby Sasquatch," Jacob grinned, then dodged his own missile with impressive speed. It was just one more bit of information Stafford added to the mental file he was compiling on these people. "And I could hold him, and squeeze him, and call him George…." he said in a sing-song voice, then burst out laughing.

Stafford didn't hold back his own laugh, along with Billy and Sam, who only howled louder at Harry's confused look.

"Old Bugs Bunny cartoon," Jacob told Harry, getting up to whisper something else in his ear that made the Brit's ears turn pink. Then, loud enough for everyone to hear, "I think they do reruns on Saturday morning on one of the channels; we'll have to watch for it."

"My names not George," Harry groused, but Stafford saw that he was smiling…and his ears were still quite pink.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The ride back to Seattle was very quite.

Not knowing just what they might be going in to, the Director and Agent had driven down in a nondescript Ford. The mundane vehicle would blend into almost any situation, and wouldn't raise an eyebrow. On the whole, Stafford was quite happy with the way things had shaken out, but knew he'd have to have a long talk with his subordinate.

"All right, out with it," he said, after letting Scoggins fume for a good fifteen minutes. "What's got your shorts in a knot?"

Agent Scoggins exhaled, refusing to look at the Director. "Something's fishy about that whole group," he said.

"Agreed. But, aside from Potter, they're all Quileutes, and that puts them outside our direct jurisdiction. It doesn't surprise me that they've got their own magicals; I'd be surprised if they didn't."

"I still don't like not knowing," Scoggins fumed. "There's something they're not telling us."

"Again, I agree. But, trying to force them to come clean is a sure-fire way to get them to clam up, then lawyer up. They can stand on their treaty rights, and tie up any formal request for information in court for decades…and we'd still loose in the end. Not to mention, we'd look like bullies and fools to even try that route."

"So we just suck up and play nice, and hope they tell us because we're such good friends?" Scoggins' voice dripped scorn.

"Since I intend to be good friends with Harry Potter and his friends, I hope so," Stafford said, emphasizing the name and the associates of (allegedly) the most powerful wizard in centuries to his underling. "At the very least, I'm going to be willing to listen to anything they have to say, and pay attention to what they don't, and you need to do the same. I'll make it an order if I have to," he finished calmly.

Andrew Scoggins had been in the Seattle office to know when the Director was serious. His 'calm voice' was the one that meant 'this is the way things are going to be', and Scoggins really didn't want to spend the rest of his career above the Arctic Circle. Still, "I'll want that in writing if I have to chaperone him, or play tour guide," he groused.

"Don't worry, Andrew. You're not a Seattle native, and I want Potter and friends to get the full treatment. Maybe Frederickson? She's Seattle-born and bred, and is just perky enough," he mused.

Scoggins didn't say anything else, and Stafford was content to let him stew for the rest of the ride. The Director used the quite time to plan just how he would convince Harry Potter to stay in the area for life!

* * *

Telling Harry about the Cold Ones led to his being told about the Cullens, which led to a formal introduction to Carlisle and Esme on neutral ground in Forks. Esme immediately fell in love with Harry, and the two began swapping recipes back and forth, then started planning a meal together. Carlisle found his British accent coming back full force, and he and Harry—between recipes and ingredient lists—had a jolly good time comparing present-day London to the London of nearly four centuries past.

Jacob sat back, torn between amusement at how easily his imprint charmed even leeches and horror at how easily his imprint charmed even leeches. Fortunately, they met at a local restaurant, and Jacob was pressed into duty to eat Carlisle and Esme's food as well as his own, so he decided to make allowances, just once.

The most awkward part of the day was when Harry accepted Esme's invitation to dinner at her home. Jacob immediately objected to Harry going alone, but Carlisle and Esme both were quite gracious when then said that Jacob was of course invited, as well. Carlisle brushed aside any questions about the treaty between vampires and shifters, saying calmly that he and Billy would work it out. Jacob allowed himself to be mollified; Harry's cold threat to go by himself, then puppy dog eyes forcing Jacob to relent.

To Jacob's dismay, Harry was an instant hit with most of the Cullen family. Carlisle and Esme, of course, had already met and befriended him, and Carlisle was already aware of the wizarding world. Since they were 'creatures' themselves, Harry didn't worry about the Statutes, and Carlisle set his mind at ease during a call the afternoon of the dinner date.

"I've told the family about you, Harry," he'd said, the connection only slightly static-y. Harry was still working on getting electronics to work around magic, and cell phones and computers were proving particularly difficult. "It's something I should have told them about years ago, but the subject never came up. They'll probably have some questions for you, but I don't think there'll be any problems."

When Harry showed up, Jacob in tow, with a box of two dozen blood pops, he instantly made a new set of friends.

"…and this is Jasper, and Alice," Esme was playing host and loving it, "and this is Emmett and Rosalie," she said, then noticed that Jasper's nostrils were flaring dangerously.

"I…need to leave," Jasper said, but stood shock still, sniffing the air around the just-arrived Harry.

Jacob was moving to protect his imprint when Harry held out a blood-red box. "I'm sorry, but will these help?" he asked, letting Alice take the box and tear it open.

"These are…?" Alice asked, not believing what her eyes and nose were telling her.

"Blood pops. I think they're made with human blood, but it's supposed to be donated so I thought it would be okay for you," Harry said lamely.

Jasper grabbed one and popped it in his mouth before anyone could move. Everyone froze as his eyes closed, then a sound of pure pleasure came from somewhere in his chest.

"These are…sooooooooo good," he rumbled, an expression of bliss on his features.

"I'm not certain…" Carlisle began, only to be cut off by Emmett.

"Gimme," the big vampire said, his hand darting out. His reaction was almost as dramatic as Jasper's. "Oh God," he said, equally blissed out. "Carlisle, I swear, if you tell me I can't have these, I'll rip your arms off!"

"Donated blood?" Carlisle asked carefully. At Harry's nod, he pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I'd rather not, but Jasper and Emmett have had…difficulties adapting to our diet."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…" Harry began to apologize, but Alice shushed him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry! Jasper struggles every day with his thirst. I, for one, agree with Emmett," she said, rounding on Carlisle. "It won't be a problem. In fact, these may be the best thing that's ever happened to Jasper. Where can we get them?" she demanded, turning back to Harry.

"I ordered those from England, but they probably have them in Seattle or San Francisco," Harry said, a bit wide-eyed at her intensity. "I can find out, if you'd like."

"I want six dozen to start, and another six dozen every two weeks," Alice declared. "Don't leave tonight without letting me pay you for them," she went on.

Harry gave a half-shrug. "It's not necessary…."

"Don't be stupid. Of course we'll pay for them," Rosalie said, taking her own sweet.

"I wasn't trying to be stupid, I was just saying…" Harry tried again.

"So shut up and let me enjoy this in peace," Rosalie snapped.

"Rose," Esme said repressively, which made the blonde turn and walk away. "I'm sorry, Harry, but she can be a bit abrupt," the hostess apologized.

Harry didn't know what to say, so he just gave a half-smile and followed Esme into the kitchen, Jacob trailing behind him. In the living room, several blissed-out vampires tried to offer the candies to Edward, who only shook his head and pulled Bella closer.

"I want one," Bella insisted, which was enough to set off another argument between the human girl, Edward, and Rosalie, who seemed to want to spite them both.

Most of those present thought that dinner was a huge success. Jacob pronounced the food excellent, and even Bella reluctantly agreed that Harry and Esme made a good team in the kitchen. Jasper and Emmett sat at the table, nursing their new favorite food, making jokes and small talk with Harry and the others. Alice was her usual bubbly self, and Edward seemed caught between trying to be friendly towards Harry, glaring at Jacob, and trying to keep Bella from making a scene.

Rosalie was snappy and insulting, and quite angry when people started snickering at her, more so when she realized that her hair had turned purple. When she started shouting and tried to stand up, a glance from Harry stuck her to the chair and silenced her. When that only enraged her further, Harry was forced to paralyze her to keep her from falling over.

"Carlisle, I'm sorry," Harry began; only to be waved off.

"Harry, it's we who should apologize for Rosalie's behavior. She's usually not this bad," the eldest vampire said sadly. "She's always had difficulties, especially with new people. I'll speak with her later," he assured the young wizard. "For now, it's probably for the best if you leave her like that, until you get ready to leave."

"I think it's horrible," Bella said, glaring at Harry. "She was just expressing her opinion. For you to do that to her…."

"Isn't anything I wouldn't do, or haven't had done to me as a prank," Harry snapped back. "Esme worked hard to make this a nice evening, and I won't let some harridan," he stared directly into Bella's eyes, the threat clear, "ruin it for her."

Bella was about to begin shouting herself, when Edward pulled her to him and whispered in her ear. Harry raised an eyebrow at Jacob, who just shrugged. They'd talk later, Jacob knew, and he wasn't looking forward to trying to justify Bella to his imprint.

After that, the evening went well. Edward took Bella into town, and everyone else (except Rosalie) had a pleasant time. Harry and Jacob recounted Harry's encounter with the vampire, which raised his stock with Jasper and Emmett considerably. When Harry fixed a shattered coffee table (Emmett and Jacob were arm-wrestling, and the poor table lost) with a simple _Reparo_; he became Emmett's friend for life. The rest of the family seemed to enjoy Harry and Carlisle telling tales of the London each knew, and Alice and Esme both expressed a desire to go shopping in Seattle with Harry, with groans all 'round from the other males present.

Finally, it was time to go. Prudently, Jasper, Emmett and Carlisle were in position to restrain Rosalie when Harry released her, but she was surprisingly calm. "I'm going to my room," she announced, and walked off without another word. Harry did wonder at the looks the others exchanged, but not too much. As long as she was civil to him and Jacob, he wouldn't have to hex her again.

In Harry's Land Rover on the way back to his house (Jacob announced that he was 'sleeping on the couch', and that was that), Jacob tried to explain about his relationship with Bella.

"So, you were in love with her, but she fell in love with Edward, but still acts like she wants you?" Harry wanted to make sure he'd heard correctly. "That's…not good," he said, not wanting to say what he really thought about such behavior.

Jacob nodded, miserable. He was over Bella, not just because he'd imprinted, and in hindsight realized just how she'd played him. He couldn't explain that to Harry, but was certain that Harry knew it, too.

"What changed?" Harry asked, and before he could think about it, Jacob answered his imprint.

"You."

Immediately, Jacob realized what he'd done, and almost jumped out of the moving vehicle to escape. Cringing, he looked over at a blushing Harry, who glanced at him.

Neither of them said a word until Jacob (who always drove, for some reason) pulled into Harry's garage and shut off the engine.

Harry sat there, not moving, for almost a minute. Then, suddenly, "I need a cup of tea," and he was gone, leaving Jacob in the vehicle.

By the time Jacob worked up his courage to follow Harry, the Brit was standing over the kettle, eyeing it neutrally.

"You know that'll never boil with you watching it," Jacob's joke fell flat, even to his ears.

Harry's sigh was very faint. "You're right," he said, then began puttering about with his tea things. Jacob, by now familiar with most of Harry's tea ritual, took a seat at the island in the kitchen and waited.

Eventually, the kettle announced its readiness, and Harry poured the boiling water into the pot, dropped in the tea strainer and brought it, tray, cups and all, to the island.

"I'll have one, too," Jacob said, making Harry's eyebrows rise.

"I thought you hated hot tea," Harry said, clearly confused.

Jacob shrugged. "As thirsty as you are for it, I figure it's got to be good for something. Extra sugar in mine, please."

Harry gave the larger man a careful look, but fixed him a cup and passed it over before fixing his own.

"Did you know that there used to be quite the debate about putting the milk in first or last?" he asked, blowing on his tea to cool it.

"Milk in tea? That sounds nasty," Jacob made a face.

Harry grinned. "I'm told it's an acquired taste, very much like cream in coffee. Never acquired it myself, though; I think it's nasty, too."

"Why would they argue about when to add it, then?" Jacob was clearly more interested in putting off the conversation he felt looming than in expanding his knowledge of the finer points of tea preparation.

"I think it had to do with the cups of the time more than anything else, at least at first," Harry sipped his tea carefully, thinking. "Poor quality china tends to crack if you pour hot liquids directly into it, so putting the milk in first protects your cups. Then, in the late 1700's, a better quality of china became available in England, so the upper class switched to putting the milk in last, to show off their better cups." Harry smiled thinly over his cup. "I suppose what started as a practical thing eventually gave way to snobbery."

"Wouldn't it taste different, depending on when you put the milk in?" Jacob asked, now truly curious. I mean…hot coffee does something to milk when you mix the two. Wouldn't hot tea do the same?"

"Don't know. I've never really felt the need to try it either way," Harry shrugged.

The two set together quietly, sipping their tea. Jacob found that, once it had cooled a bit, it actually wasn't all that bad. It'd never replace the cold, fizzy goodness of soft drinks, but it was drinkable.

Finally, Harry broke the silence.

"Jacob, I…."

"Harry, wait." Jacob broke in, suddenly unable to keep quiet. "Before you say anything, there's something I have to tell you." He took a deep breath, then went on rapidly. "When a shifter meets the perfect person for them, a bond forms. We call this an 'imprint'. You're mine. It's why I can never be with Bella, or…."

"Wait! A bond forms?" Harry's agitation was about what Jacob had expected, so he rushed to reassure his imprint.

"Yes, a bond, but it's not a bad thing, it's a great thing!" Jacob grinned. "Especially mine."

"So…you chose to imprint on me?" Harry barely stuttered on the unfamiliar word, but his eyes were flashing.

Jacob shook his head, too relieved at having finally told Harry about the imprint to really notice. "No, but that's just part of it. The Elders think it's to insure the shifter genes get passed along, but some of us aren't sure, especially since everybody knows I imprinted on you."

"You're telling me…we're bonded, and everybody else knows…." Harry trailed off, then shook his head irritably. "Pack shared thoughts, obviously." Then, he looked directly into Jacob's eyes angrily. "That explains some of the comments I've heard, doesn't it? Tell me, Mr. Black, just when were you going to inform me that we had formed an involuntary magical bond?"

Jacob leaned back at the icy tone in Harry's voice. "I was going to tell you…" he began, but was cut off.

"When? Tomorrow? Next week? Sometime next year?" Harry snapped, then closed his eyes, his concentration turning inward as Jacob dropped his head in misery. He didn't have to be looking at Harry to feel when the wizard's eyes flew open.

"That's why my magic has been responding to you like it has! It must have sensed your imprint, and reached out to it! There's a two-way bond there, I can feel it!"

Jacob started, then a feeling of joy flooded him. "Oh, cool! That's just…beyond cool, actually." He grinned happily, oblivious to Harry's building rage.

"Is that what you think? We're stuck in an involuntary magical bond, and you think it's cool? What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?" Harry raged.

"Me? Nothing's wrong!" Jacob insisted. "I imprinted on you, so you're the perfect person for me. If you imprinted back, it only means that we're perfect together!" He smiled hugely, confident he'd just made the most profound statement of the century.

Jacob's enthusiasm only fueled Harry's rage, and the pots and pans hanging from the overhead racks began to sway and dance. "It means that we're basically enslaved to each other! How can that be good?" he demanded.

Jacob shook his head, his own anger beginning to rise. "How can it not be? If we weren't right for each other, it never would have happened!"

"So what I feel for you, and what you feel for me, is all because of this damned imprint of yours?" A low rumble began to sound throughout the house, and the dishes in the cabinets began to rattle.

"Yes! I mean, no! Yes, I imprinted on you, and that made me want to be with you, but then I got to know you," Jacob declared.

"After the damned bond formed," Harry snarled. Then, as the thought hit him, "Just a tic! In the laundromat, the first few times we touched…that was the bond, wasn't it?"

"Probably. It's not like I ever imprinted before," Jacob snarled back. "I know I enjoyed the hell out of it, and you didn't look too unhappy at the time."

"I nearly lost control of my magic, you git!" By now, everything not tied down in the kitchen was dancing and rattling.

"Like now?" Jacob's comment cut through Harry's anger like a knife, which made him close his eyes again and take several calming breaths. He continued to take slow, deep breaths even after the kitchen was quiet once more, which made it easy for him to hear Jacob's voice.

"Harry, imprinting on you…I wouldn't change it for anything in the world," he said softly, reaching out to brush his hand against the smaller man's.

Harry opened his eyes, and Jacob's heart nearly broke at the sorrow he saw there. "Jacob…it's not real, it's just a stupid magical bond. You don't have a choice about how you feel for me, do you?"

Jacob shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Harry. You can't un-imprint. Or, at least, no one has ever talked about that, and I wouldn't want too, anyway. I lo…really like you, Harry Potter," he said, catching himself at the last second. By the look in Harry's eyes, he knew what he'd started to say had been heard.

"What about my feelings for you? Which are real, and which are from the bond?" he asked quietly.

"What are your feelings for me?" Jacob asked carefully, while inside he fought down the urge to jump up and fist-pump wildly. Harry had feelings for him! Woooo!

"I…I'd rather not say," Harry looked away, blushing furiously. "It's probably all the bond, anyway," he said lamely.

Jacob just grinned, and decided to take the biggest risk of his life. Sliding closer to the messy-haired young man, he reached out and turned Harry's face back to him gently. Moist emerald eyes met deep brown, then Jacob leaned forward and brushed his lips against Harry's.

Harry just sat there, stunned. Jacob had just kissed him, and…it had been wonderful. Kissing Cho had been sloppy and rather unsatisfying, and snogging Ginny always left Harry feeling like she was trying to eat his face off. This was nothing like that at all, just a soft, gentle touch that left Harry wanting more. Much more….

Jacob just sat there, watching Harry's reaction, not saying anything. Seeing no reaction at all, he gave a mental shrug and leaned forward once more.

This time, Harry was prepared, or at least he thought he was. He'd had plenty of time to pull back, but hadn't. When their lips met a second time, he found himself gently pressing back before Jacob broke the contact once more.

"You're my imprint, Harry. That means that I'll do whatever, be whatever it takes to make you happy. If you just want to be friends, we can do that. Or…." he trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

"I…Jacob, I…" Harry looked away, then sudden jumped up and began to pace, his abrupt agitation startling Jacob.

"When I was in school, there was this Tournament," Harry was saying, pacing back and forth and running his hand through his hair semi-frantically. "I wasn't supposed to compete, but my name got put into the Goblet, so I got stuck in a binding magical contract."

"Was that when you had to fight the troll? Or the dragon?" Jacob couldn't help himself. His enthusiasm just gushed out, which earned him a glare from Harry.

"Dragon, yes; troll, no. The troll was my first year in school, when I was eleven…."

"You fought at troll at eleven? Wow!"

Another glare. "It nearly killed me, and the dragon tried too, as well. No, the Tournament was my fourth year. At any rate…."

"So you were fourteen when you fought a dragon?" Jacob grinned from ear to ear. Nobody could ever possibly imprint on somebody as cool as his imprint, Sam and all the rest of the Pack could just suck it!

"Yes," Harry snapped, then deflated as Jacob's obvious glee affected him. "It wasn't that glamorous," he groused, shaking his head. "It chased me over half of Scotland on my broom, before…."

"So, dragons can fly, too? And one chased you? I bet that was soooo wicked to watch!"

"I'm sure it was," Harry said dryly. "At any rate, I didn't have a choice then, and I nearly died several times. You'll understand if I'm a bit leery about involuntary magical contracts and bonds and such."

"But Harry," Jacob struggled, trying to find the words to convince his imprint that the imprint wasn't like that at all. "This isn't bad…is it? I mean…you're just great, and I don't think I'm too horrible," he said.

"Not terribly," Harry snarked, then shook his head. "Jacob, it's not you, please don't think that. It's just…."

"It's just me? That sounds like a line from a chick flick," he said, regretting it the instant the words were out of his mouth.

"My life isn't a chick flick, it's a bloody soap opera," Harry said, sitting back down. "Jacob, we need to look at this carefully, rationally."

"Okay, let's do that," Jacob readily agreed, scooting his chair a bit closer. "I'm a shifter, and I imprinted on you. That means that you are the perfect person for me to be with, mainly for the sake of my tribe but also for me. Since your magic turned the imprint around, that means the same thing about you."

"I'm not a member of the tribe," Harry said, ready to pick Jacob's argument to shreds.

"Not yet, you're not," Jacob agreed. He'd have to speak to Billy about that soonest, he realized. Maybe Harry could be adopted into the tribe, or something….

"I thought you said that imprinting was meant to pass on the shifter genes," Harry said. "If you hadn't noticed, we're both men," he said. Now was not the time to discuss the possibility of male wizarding pregnancies…if ever. No, best never go there!

Jacob shrugged. "There are several others who can have all the kids the tribe will ever need to pass on the genes. In the meantime, my imprint," he said proudly, "is a mighty wizard! How can that not help the tribe?" he grinned.

"You just want me for my wand," Harry groused, then blushed when Jacob burst out laughing. "What did I?…oh." He looked away, only to stop when Jacob caught his arm firmly and pulled him closer.

"Not just your wand. And no, before I met you, I didn't think I was gay. I still don't," Jacob said softly.

Harry's efforts to resist being pulled closer were just for show, Jacob was certain, just like what he was saying. "I'm not gay either. I've snogged girls before, you know."

Jacob didn't answer, just pulled Harry to him and kissed him once more, his lips gently massaging his imprints'. Harry didn't react for several seconds, then he began moving his own lips in response to Jacob's. They stayed like that, neither of them moving to deepen the kiss in any way, until finally Jacob broke it off reluctantly.

"Jacob…I think we need to research this bond, if for no other reason than we're in it," Harry said, a bit breathlessly. "I just don't want us to start something, then wind up hating each other…."

Jacob shut him up with another kiss, which Harry joined happily.

"We won't hate each other," he said, some time later. Then, he kissed his imprint again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That wasn't the end of it, of course. Harry insisted they discuss the bond at some length, and then threw himself into his library as he looked for everything he could find about magical bonds.

Jacob was convinced it was all just a ploy to get him and some of the others to help Harry unpack and shelve books, and said so. Harry stuck his tongue out at him and went back to his reading.

Between the Potter, Black and Dumbledore libraries, Harry had one of the best magical collections in the world. He took full advantage of this over the next several days, until finally Jacob laid down the law: four hours of research a day, with regular breaks, then the rest of the day spent doing 'normal stuff'. Of course, 'normal stuff' was things like going to the beach with Jacob…going shopping with Jacob…going to the movies with Jacob…cooking for Jacob (and the Pack)…and kissing Jacob.

Harry justified his acceptance of this by telling himself that the bond wasn't going anywhere. And, the truth be known, he really, truly enjoyed spending time with Jacob and the Pack.

The kissing part didn't exactly suck, either. Unfortunately, he suspected Jacob knew he felt that way, based on the way the shifter grinned from time to time.

Of course, the Pack—now freed from the need to keep their knowledge of Harry and Jacob's imprinting secret—made arses of themselves. Sam was not amused when a pair of signal-flare orange wolves (Jared and Brady) showed up to patrol one evening, but there wasn't too much he could do about it except tell them to stop annoying the wizard, and give them extra patrols to drive the point home.

Leah was the absolute worst about sniping at Harry every chance she got; despite Harry's attempts to be understanding, he finally reached his breaking point. Having your boyfriend imprint on another person must have been painful, but to Harry's way of thinking, it didn't give her the right to be spiteful and snappish with him…or Jacob, either.

Seth swiped Harry's nice camera and shot up three rolls of film of the hairless wolf snapping uselessly at the wizard hovering some thirty feet in the air on his broom.

Even funnier to most of the Pack were the memories of just how itchy the hair-regrowth potion was, especially since it lasted for nearly two days (Harry paid extra for that). Of course, it restored Leah's hair, and made her a bit more circumspect around Harry and Jacob, but did nothing for her overall disposition.

That Harry was supremely unconcerned afterwards only infuriated her more.

"I told her I'd hex her bald if she didn't watch her tongue, and she said she didn't believe me. I hope it's a long, cold winter," was his response to Sam's entreaty to undo what he'd done. That Harry seemed perfectly willing to let her stay that way was probably the only thing that wrung a grudging apology from Leah.

That incident, more than anything else, mellowed the Pack out, and made everyone's life more pleasant. Well, everyone except Leah, who was still a bitch to everyone except Harry and Jacob.

Ultimately, Jacob found Harry in the library shortly before lunch several weeks after 'that discussion', not reading. The wizard was just sitting there, staring into space, looking glum.

"Okay, time for lunch! I'm hungry! What are you feeding me?" Jacob demanded.

"Jacob, I think we need to have a serious talk first," Harry said, and Jacob couldn't stop his anxiety from spiking at Harry's tone. He dropped into a chair and leaned forward, trying to show his interest while fighting to stay calm.

"So, talk," Jacob said.

"I…don't think anything can be done about the bond," Harry sighed. They'd agreed that before Harry tried anything to separate them, he'd talk with Jacob first. However, the pain and disappointment in his voice was like a spear to Jacob's heart.

"Harry, I…I really don't know what to say. I'm sorry," Jacob stood. "I'll go…." he began, only to find Harry suddenly standing between him and the door.

"No! I mean…please don't go just yet," Harry temporalized. "There are things I need to explain to you…."

"No, there's nothing to explain. I imprinted on you, you imprinted back, and I don't want to change that. I'm glad it can't be changed, and I'm sorry you feel differently," Jacob said, the hurt plain in his voice.

"I don't want to change it either, and that's the problem!" Harry yelled, suddenly furious. "I bloody well love you, and I think I would even without this stupid bond, but how can I know? And, since I can't know, how can you know, either?"

"You love me?" Jacob said, not hearing anything else beyond that. "You love me?" he repeated.

"Yes, I love you, you stupid prat! I love your laugh, and your smile, and the way you won't take any shite from me, and mmmmph..!"

Harry's rant was abruptly cut off by another mouth covering his, an eager tongue dancing across his lips, begging entry. Harry opened his mouth and moaned as Jacob's tongue gently parted Harry's lips, easing in to lightly touch just the tip of Harry's.

Jacob felt arms go around his neck and effortlessly picked Harry up without breaking the kiss. Holding Harry by his buttocks, he carried Harry back to his chair where he sat, Harry in his lap and still kissing him passionately.

"I love you, too," Jacob whispered as both men took a breath. "I don't care if it's the bond or not. It feels real. It feels right," he insisted.

"I know, and that's what frightens me so much," Harry sighed.

"You worry too much," Jacob said, giving his head a small shake of exasperation. Why did it have to be this difficult?

"I know, it's just…."

"It's just as simple as me imprint on you, you imprint on me, I love you, you love me, ugg." Jacob grunted, doing a very bad caveman impersonation.

Harry snickered. "All right, then, but if you club me over the head and drag me back to your cave to have your way with me, don't expect me to come quietly."

"Oh, I think I can make you come loudly," Jacob said, waggling his eyebrows. He so enjoyed making Harry blush, even though it was almost too easy most of the time. His imprint really was a bit of a prude that way.

This time, though, Harry didn't let the innuendo go. "Oh? Well, I would certainly hope so. Fortunately, I know several good silencing charms, so we won't disturb the neighbors."

"Harry, you don't have any neighbors," Jacob chided, then kissing his imprint—and future lover, if the banter meant anything—once more.

* * *

They talked about the bond again, of course, over the next several days. Jacob was curious about what Harry had learned, and talking about it seemed to make Harry feel better, too.

Harry admitted there were no signs of adverse effects on either of them: Jacob was still shifting normally, and Harry's magic, aside from tingling whenever they touched, was also as normal as it had been 'before'. Well, normal for him, at any rate. As for their emotions, well…each of them still seemed to have free will, and minds of their own. The few heated arguments proved that quite handily, but then one or both of them would apologize and get to the 'make-up snogging' in short order.

Several of the Pack learned the hard way not to joke too much about catching the pair 'playing suck-face', as Seth called it. Good-natured ribbing was one thing, but snarling comments earned Paul a very nasty hex that Harry described as 'Ye Olde Scrotal Stinger'. Since he couldn't keep the rest of the Pack from the memory of what it felt like, Paul served as an object lesson to the others.

Jacob commented on that particular thing not long after Paul's lesson, to which Harry only shrugged. "He'd never have lasted a day at my old school. Anyway, I've only hexed Leah and Paul once each. It's not like I go around putting the bat-bogey on people all the time. Jacob, of course, had to ask what that meant, and spent the next several minutes howling with laughter. Then, he spent almost as much time pouting when Harry flatly refused to cast it on certain vampires they both knew.

It wasn't too long after that particular discussion that Jacob Black asked Harry Potter to marry him. To Jacob's surprise, Harry only argued with him for ten minutes before finally agreeing. The Quileute had really expected the argument to take all afternoon, but apparently his imprint had been having thoughts along the same lines.

"It's not legal in this state," Harry'd said.

"We'll do it on Tribal lands," was Jacob's answer.

"People will talk," Harry'd said.

"People already talk, because they already know," Jacob had answered.

"We haven't even had sex yet," Harry'd said, blushing in that way that Jacob loved so much.

"I'm an old-fashioned guy. We're going to wait for the wedding night," Jacob replied.

"I don't know anything about what two men do together," Harry objected.

"There are at least six books in your library. I know exactly where they are," Jacob said calmly. "We can both read up."

"I wondered why you insisted on shelving some of the books yourself, rather than making Seth or Embry do it," Harry narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend. By then, both of them had started using the term for the other, to the secret glee of each of them.

"Seth and Embry are both too young," Jacob grinned.

"And we're not?" Harry's mouth twitched at one corner.

"Nope." And Jacob decided to end the conversation right then and there, in what was rapidly becoming a habit for him. He kissed his imprint, now fiancé, soundly.

* * *

The Elders were not terribly amused when one of their Alpha males imprinted on a scrawny little Englishman, even if the boy seemed to be fabulously rich and more than willing to spread that wealth among the tribe. They were less amused when Jacob and Harry went before them to ask their blessing to be married on the Rez.

There was even some talk of forcing Harry and Jacob apart so that Jacob could imprint 'properly' on a nice tribal girl. This idea, however, quickly went away after Harry had a little talk with the Elders one evening in the sweat lodge. Most of them were quite circumspect about just what Harry said, but all agreed that his arguments were most persuasive.

The wedding itself was a simple affair. Harry invited only a handful of friends and family, and was terribly disappointed when most of the Weasleys—including the newest one, Hermione Granger-Weasley—refused to attend on the grounds that it was 'abnormal' for two men to marry. George, the only one to owl back with congratulations, begged off on the actual ceremony, pleading the inability to leave the shop, and the need to keep peace with the rest of his family. Harry's letter back was short, warm, and full of understanding. George would always be welcome in his home, regardless of what the rest of the family did.

It was Jacob and Billy's first experience with a howler, and Harry told them later that he'd no idea one could be sent halfway around the globe like Molly Weasley had managed to do.

Only Neville Longbottom and his fiancé Hannah Abbott, Luna Lovegood, and Minerva McGonagall made the journey from England. They all pronounced themselves properly impressed by Harry's house and the beauty of the ceremony.

The Pack attended, of course, along with most of the tribal Elders and others who knew the secret of the Pack. Director Stafford came as "an acquaintance of Mr. Potter's". Harry also insisted that the Cullens be invited, along with Chief Swan, who came along mainly to prevent Bella from causing a scene. Since the Chief was working with Esme, Alice, Jasper and Emmett to rein the girl in, Bella found herself spending the day inside a box of bodies, kept well away from the two grooms except for one quick pass through the receiving line after the ceremony.

"I hope you're happy," she'd sniped at Jacob, and then whirled away in a huff when he'd just smiled, raised Harry's hand to his lips, and replied "Never happier, Bells; never happier."

Harry hadn't said anything, but he had been ready to silence the shrew if she tried anything…and Jacob knew it.

"She's not worth it," the taller man leaned down and whispered in his new husband's ear as she was whisked away.

"I know," Harry smiled back at his husband, the thought making his heart and magical core do happy little flip-flops inside his chest.

Most of the food had been Esme and Harry's work, with Alice pressing Carlisle, Jasper, Emmett and most of the Pack into service to decorate the house and tent where the vows were exchanged. It was a measure of just how much Harry's coming to Forks had changed the dynamic between the two groups that all of the men, shifter and vampire alike, were complaining about being forced onto a work gang by the bubbly girl.

The biggest catastrophe of the day came when Jasper and Quil decided to challenge Emmett and Paul to a tag-team wrestling match. Jacob wanted to join in, but Harry flatly refused to let him. Harry then whispered something in Jacob's ear that made the dark-skinned man turn even darker, then quickly excuse himself, dragging his messy-haired husband behind him just as the match began.

Fortunately, the tent itself was easily mended, and the cost of replacing the poles was quite reasonable. Some of the finger foods, however, were sadly lost. Other than that, it was quite a good match, and was actually a harbinger of things to come.

Harry and Jacob went upstairs that evening, leaving Billy and Esme in charge. On a dare, Emmett tried to sneak up the stairs a bit later, only to come back down sheepishly a bit later. When several others started up the stairs, the big vampire just said "guys, you'll be sorry", which promptly ended all such attempts. Of course, Edward's sudden outbreak of snickering may have had something to do with it, as well, since everyone immediately assumed that he'd read something amusing in Emmett's mind. Despite multiple attempts, neither of them would say just what Harry had waiting for anyone who tried to disturb his honeymoon night.

As for the new Mr. and Mr. Potter-Blacks…they did not technically consummate their marriage for another few days, but they were quite busy with each other well into the wee hours of the morning…and didn't come downstairs until the middle of the next afternoon, either.

The books in Harry's library had stressed the need to 'prepare', and Harry knew that Jacob's size would be a formidable challenge. He also suspected, correctly, that his husband would want to be involved in the process. Consequently, it was several days before they both felt they were ready to 'go all the way'. When they did, it was not without the odd awkward or uncomfortable moment. But, once they got into the swing of things, it was…well; 'magical' was the only applicable term.

The Pack was very surprised a few days later, when Jacob shifted for the first time since the wedding. For some reason, none of them could see his memories of he and Harry together.

When they demanded explanations, Jacob gave a wolfy pant-smile and thought back "my husband's a wizard, and it's none of your business, jerks". Then he huffed in a thoroughly self-satisfied way and looped away, laughing in his head.

**A/N:** Yep, the Pack were all greatly disappointed when Jacob's thoughts were hidden from them. How did he and Harry manage it? Magic!

A picture of the Evil Plot Bunny is now on my LiveJournal: twistyguru (d0t) livejournal (d0t) com. Thanks for all the reviews, Plot Bunny is very happy...but still evil!

**Next Chapter:** What's up with the Weasleys? The boys do England, then on to Paris! Plus, a certain blond Slytherin makes an appearance.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** To England and beyond! Plus, Draco Malfoy.

**DISCLAIMER: please see Chapter 1. SLASH and MPREG WARNING!**

**CHAPTER 4**

Several days later, Harry received a letter from Hermione Granger-Weasley. She apologized for not attending, but said she really couldn't, considering just how strongly her husband's family objected. Harry read between the lines that Molly and Ginny were still furious he'd left England, not married Ginny, and become a Weasley himself. There was some anti-homosexual prejudice in wizarding Britain, mostly among old-line purebloods like the Weasleys, but Hermione admitted that she'd been shocked at the degree of vitriol Molly and Ginny had been spewing to all and sundry about the Boy Who Was A Shirt Lifter (and 'led on' Molly's little angel!).

That Ginny had worked her way through most of the male (and some of the female, if rumors were to be believed) population of multiple Hogwarts years didn't seem to be important to either of the Weasley women. Hermione had walked in on a suspiciously ended conversation she thought was about love potions, but she didn't know anything more. She did suggest that Harry screen any edibles—or anything he might touch from England—for potions, hexes or portkeys.

Since Harry routinely screened all of his mail, this wasn't a hardship. Once Jacob heard the entire story of the third task, the shifter heartily agreed with his husband's caution, while quietly resolving to pay a visit to England if anything happened to his Harry.

Another bad patch came just after the honeymoon officially ended with a weekend trip for the newlyweds to Las Vegas. When they returned home, Harry found a letter from Andromeda Tonks waiting on him. The former Miss Black had insisted on taking baby Teddy after the war, and she and Harry had discussed letting him visit his godfather for extended visits beginning when he was old enough, perhaps five or six. Harry planned for Teddy to eventually come live with him—there was a room waiting for him, just down the hall from Harry's (and now Jacob's). Andromeda had apparently read about his wedding to Jacob in the _Daily Prophet_—Merlin knew how they'd found out; Harry suspected a Weasley—and informed him that he'd never be allowed to see his godson again.

Harry sighed, and wrote a letter to his solicitor. Shortly thereafter, Eddie Spindle wrote back that Harry could eventually get custody of the boy, but it would take months, if not years.

When Jacob found out, he was all for going to England immediately and taking Teddy, by force if necessary.

"You mean, you'd be okay with him being here?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Why wouldn't I be? You're his godfather. Think of all the fun we'll have!" Jacob grinned.

"But…what if I'm a lousy father?" Harry asked anxiously.

Jacob understood that Harry's life had left him with very little in the way of self-esteem. The shifter regarded curing that deficiency as one of the main challenges in his own life, and actually enjoyed making Harry blush by rubbing his nose in his own competency.

"Baby, you couldn't be a lousy father if you tried. Besides, we can always ask my Dad for advice. After all, look at how great your husband turned out!" Jacob preened, then laughed when Harry smacked him. Given his shifter physiology, Harry would have had to use an axe, and probably an enchanted one at that, to do more than tickle him.

"Git. That's what worries me," Harry snickered, then kissed his husband.

Jacob wisely concentrated on the kissing part, rather than making a smart-ass reply that would only get him smacked again.

* * *

Andromeda's letter precipitated a visit by the Potter-Blacks across the pond. Harry wanted to meet with Teddy and Andromeda personally, so Jacob could meet them and Andromeda could see what a great person Jacob really was.

Harry was crushed when Andromeda, through her solicitor, refused; but it also angered him enough that he told Eddie Spindle "do whatever it takes, Remus' and Tonks' wills say I get custody, so I want it". The former Slytherin immediately notified his partner, the formidable A. P. B. Gallsworthy, wizarding barrister without peer, that he could expect another case in the very near future. Polly Gallsworthy, upon hearing this bit of news laughed, then developed a gleam in his eye that didn't bode well for Andromeda's barrister. Both he and Spindle had developed a healthy respect for Harry Potter both personally and as a force to be reckoned with in the wizarding world. That he always paid in full at the first request, and both genuinely liked the young man, didn't hurt. Oh, it might take a while—wizarding justice, such as it was, often ground even slower than its muggle counterpart, especially where the Ancient and Noble Houses were concerned—but eventually, both men were confident they'd manage to get Harry what he wanted.

They told him so, in a rare (for them, since they were both very much in demand) joint meeting with their most famous client. Harry shrugged, told them he expected it to take some time, then asked if they needed a larger advance to get started.

Jacob, included in the meeting because Harry said so, was impressed all over again at the way his imprint's name opened doors and made other people jump and run to do his bidding. He found a moment to quietly ask Polly Gallsworthy about that, while Harry and Eddie Spindle were going over a thick sheaf of documents.

"Young Potter banished the Dark Lord when he was just an infant, for starters," the barrister explained. "I can't begin to tell you just how terrible those times were, before there was a Boy Who Lived. Then, when the Dark Lord returned…" he shuddered. "Well, let's just say that when word got out that the 'immortal' Dark Lord had finally been destroyed once and for all by none other than the Boy Who Lived, people began speculating on just what it all meant."

"He's told me a little about the whole Boy Who Lived stuff, but he doesn't like talking about it," Jacob said, frustrated that he had to learn about this part of his imprint's life second hand.

"He's a very private person, our Harry," Polly smiled thinly. "And, he wasn't treated very well by our world as a whole. I think most of that can be laid solely at the feet of Albus bloody Dumbledore, but that's neither here nor there. I will say that Harry never fails to amaze me at just what a decent sort he turned out to be, despite all the shite he's been through."

"He is pretty wonderful," Jacob grinned, proud of his husband. "He hasn't talked a lot about his childhood, but from what he's let slip, it wasn't very good." The shifter shook his head, irritated.

"It wasn't." Gallsworthy bit out. "It's not my story to tell, so don't ask. I can tell you that if the honest truth were known, Albus Dumbledore's body would have to be moved to a secret location to keep people from pissing on his grave."

"Harry's taking me there later today or tomorrow," Jacob growled.

"And whatever you do, don't actually desecrate the site!" Gallsworthy snapped, then sighed. "No matter how much either of us would like to, Dumbledore's tomb is still regarded by many as the final resting place of the 'Leader of the Light'. Harry's largely responsible for that, you know," the barrister shrugged. "Eddie and I both wanted the truth to come out in the days just after the war, but by the time Harry was recovered enough to be making any statements, he'd already decided not to speak out. He thought it would be too much of a shock for most people to realize that the man they'd idolized for all those decades was actually almost as dark as Voldemort himself."

Jacob nodded. He could see Harry doing that. It was just too much like his imprint to not be believed. He loved Harry, more than anything, but the messy-haired man's tendency to suffer in silence made the shifter want to wring his scrawny neck at least once a week. Not that Harry'd done much suffering since the two met, but still….

"He won't even talk about going to see his family. His Aunt, I mean," Jacob watched the old man's face carefully for a reaction as he spoke.

"There's no need. Again, Eddie and I both wanted to take action against them in the muggle courts, but Harry forbid it. He said the past was past, and to let it be."

"I still want to see them, just so I can rub their noses in the fact that he's happy, and loved, and rich, despite how awful they were to him." Jacob grinned. "Plus, nobody will care if I piss in their flowers."

Polly Gallsworthy half-snorted, half-choked as he swallowed a belly laugh at that. He and his partner had done the paperwork to register Jacob as a 'squib animagus' prior to his coming to England—the last thing Harry wanted was his husband being labeled a 'dark creature' by the British Ministry—so he was well aware of Jacob's abilities. He and Spindle had shared a moment of frisson when they envisioned an enraged Harry Potter assaulting the Ministry to rescue his husband from a group of people that he well and truly despised. Polly's own personal opinion was that it would make Voldemort and Dumbledore's duel there look like a sandbox fight between toddlers. Not that such a thing might not be all for the good, considering just how little had actually changed under the call box since the war, but still….

"No, but there might be some questions as to just where a wolf of your size came from," the barrister grinned.

"People see strange things every day. Besides, it wouldn't take long," Jacob insisted.

"Yes, yes, but then questions would be asked, and ultimately Harry would have to answer them, and that would make him uncomfortable. I assure you, the Dursleys are not having very pleasant lives, and won't for quite some time," the older man said, a glint in his eye. "There may have been…irregularities discovered in some of Vernon's expense accounts, as well as other funds from Grunnings going missing. I also just happen to know," he went on, smirking, "that a number of wizards recently decided to diversify their portfolios by investing in muggle manufacturing concerns. Mr. Finch-Fletchley and Lord Longbottom, in particular, are now heavily invested in Grunnings, and neither of them are too keen on letting the matter pass quietly."

Jacob looked at the older man carefully, then nodded once. "Harry's told me enough to know the Dursley's want everyone else to think they're the perfect, normal family."

"Yes, well. Rather difficult to do that when Vernon was dragged from the house in irons," he paused. "It was a bit unusual for the local news to focus so heavily on what was really a minor embezzlement scandal, but not terribly so. Then, when the son was arrested for dealing drugs to minors in the local park, the family was all over the tabloids again. Now that Vernon and Dudley are both in durance vile for the next few years, Petunia will probably loose the house, as well."

"Oh, that's so sad," Jacob was biting his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. "So, Justin and Neville? Who else should I thank?" Neville Longbottom had blithely ignored Harry's request to not make a fuss over his visit, and had hosted a party of the 'old gang'—mostly the DA—where Jacob had been introduced all 'round. Aside from one bad moment when an intoxicated Ginny Weasley crashed the party and tried to cause a scene, it had been a great evening for the Quileute and his new husband.

"Miss Lovegood might have had a hand in the press coverage, since she has also diversified into the muggle sphere," Polly smirked. "But, I merely speculate, of course; I have no direct knowledge of just what might have happened."

"Uh huh," Jacob snickered.

"And, since this firm represents all three individuals, any knowledge I might have about their affairs would be privileged information," the barrister said, his face serene.

"Uh huh," Jacob repeated, still snickering.

"By the by, this firm also now represents you," Polly Gallsworthy smiled at the young man he was coming to like as much as the man's husband. "Harry has made you the principal beneficiary of his will, and it stipulates that should something happen to him, custody of his godson will pass to you."

"I thought that wasn't settled yet," Jacob frowned. "Teddy, I mean. I never asked Harry to…." he said, beginning to get irritated.

Not wanting an angry shapeshifter in his office, Polly Gallsworthy moved to calm the young man down quickly. "Mr. Potter-Black, I'm sure that Harry didn't even ask you before he had Eddie draw up the papers; he told us so himself. He insisted it be done that way, so you wouldn't lack the resources to care for young Theodore. He also made the boy heir to the Black family—that was easy enough, as he is a Black by blood—but also has already set out that the first male child you two have is the Potter heir, as well. Yes, I know about your plans," the barrister said easily. "I'm your barrister, for Merlin's sake! If there's anyone who needs to know all of your dirty little secrets, it's Eddie and I! Not that I don't approve," he went on. "Don't think I haven't noticed how you and Harry look at each other, or how much happier and healthier he is now than the last time I saw him. You've been very good for our boy, and I thank you for it."

Jacob looked down, embarrassed. "I…thanks, I guess." He looked up, and a huge grin split his face. "He's just…great. Even without the imprint, I think…." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"He certainly is that," Gallsworthy agreed. "Although, I'm personally glad that magic itself intervened; Eddie and I were beginning to think the boy would never find someone to settle down with!"

Jacob paused, then nodded, understanding what the other man said. "You mean the imprint? I guess I don't usually think of it as magic," he answered.

"Well, what else could it be? Certainly it's not anything muggle! Just because you don't fit the mold of what we usually think of as 'wizard' doesn't mean you aren't magical! Merlin's balls, man! Unlike most of my countryman, I know that there are other forms of magic besides what comes out of a wand! You really should get Harry to take you to one of the ICW conventions; it'd be good for both of you. Meet a few shamen, some spirit-walkers, maybe a voodoo priest or two; broaden your horizons no end. Harry needs to start going at least once a year, regardless; he's going to be pulled into ICW politics eventually, and needs to start learning how to meet and greet as soon as possible."

"He'll hate that," Jacob grimaced, and he didn't have to add 'I'll probably hate it, too," even though he thought it.

"Yes, you both will," Gallsworthy agreed. "Doesn't matter, really. I hate what Fortescue's ice cream does to my waistline, but I go anyway."

"It's not the same!" Jacob laughed loudly, then waved at Harry when he and Eddie Spindle looked over at the pair, surprised.

"Oy! Gallsworthy, what lies are you telling my husband about me?" Harry called across the large room.

"Just the true ones, Potter! Now, bugger off! We're having a serious discussion over here."

"You're not the only wizarding law firm in Britain, you know." Harry's scowl fooled absolutely no one.

"You can't fire us, you've paid too much in advance. Now, mind your own business," Polly Gallsworthy fired back. When the Lord Potter-Black stuck out his tongue at him and turned back to what he had been doing, the barrister said softly. "I know you have a magical bond that prevents it, and I'm sure you've already heard this, but…" he paused, his face suddenly serious. "If you hurt that boy, there's nowhere on this earth that you can hide."

Jacob nodded, leaned forward slightly and lowered his own voice. "I know, and I don't think I'd want to. Hide, that is," he said. Then, he grinned. "You're about the fifth person who's given me a version of that speech," he confided. "Neville and Luna did it together, while Justin kept Harry busy. They called it the 'shovel' speech, and Neville actually showed me the shovel he said he'd beat me to death with, then use to bury my corpse."

"And Miss Lovegood agreed with this?"

"She said she'd use the shovel to cut me up into little parts, so that Neville could bury them all separately," Jacob smiled. "They love Harry, too."

"As well they should," Polly Gallsworthy confided. "Even if he hadn't saved our world from Voldemort, he'd be easy to care for. He's a great treasure, our Harry, and some of us tend to get a bit…overprotective of him, at times."

"It's not like we don't need to! Damn it! He never thinks about his own safety before he just throws himself into things," Jacob growled. "And, he's always putting himself last, and won't let me…."

"I know, I know," Polly interrupted. "He's the same way with us, except when he's angry. Even then, he's still learning to think before he acts. There again, I blame Dumbledore; if it hadn't been for the old man's machinations, Harry might well have gone into Slytherin. Salazar's House would have taught him to think before he went haring off…but what's done is done, so it's up to us," he said, including Jacob Black in the 'Care, Feeding and Training of Harry James Potter Society' that had been operating behind Harry's back for some time, "to teach him better. And, to make sure that he has all the support he needs when he dashes into the breech."

"It's basically a full-time job," Jacob groused. "No, I take that back. It's more than a full-time job; it takes several people working in shifts."

"On two continents, apparently," Polly Gallsworthy agreed, then both men dissolved into manly chuckles that would never be called giggles.

Across the room, Eddie Spindle noticed what was going on, and captured Harry's attention with a particular clause that absolutely needed his attention at just that moment.

He'd find out what his partner and Harry's young man were talking about later, over a pint at the pub. Until then, well, someone had to tend to business.

* * *

Sorting out Harry's affairs took most of a week. Eddie Spindle had his client there in person, and he was not about to waste the opportunity. Since the _Prophet _had somehow gotten wind of Harry's return (and his marriage, which was the subject of a special issue), Harry wanted to spend most of his time in the muggle world. Of course, there were people he had to see, but Neville put his foot down: all magical visitors would see Harry at Longbottom Hall, period. The old pile's wards were among the strongest in Britain, and there were always several of Harry's close friends 'coincidentally' visiting Neville when Harry was also having guests. Lord Longbottom was not amused at the reactions of most of the wizarding populace to Harry's actions after the war—the public wanted a poster boy hero to replace that old publicity whore Dumbledore—but Harry's reluctance to live a public life, subsequent departure and return as a shirt-lifter had caused quite the outcry. That he'd married not only a man but also a 'Dark Creature' had a number of people wailing that he was going to become the next Dark Lord.

Of course that sort of thing sold papers, lots of them, which is why the _Prophet_ did it. _The Quibbler_ also saw its sales increase, as it presented a calmer, more open and honest viewpoint. The issue where Harry gave Luna his one and only interview, sitting in Neville's solarium with Jacob by his side, sold out four printings.

_Teen Witch Weekly _ran a picture of Harry and Jacob sitting there holding hands on the cover, with the splash line "Love Affair of the Century". It also sold out.

Harry did manage to take Jacob into magical London so that he could see Diagon and Knockturn Alleys for himself. The pair were polyjuiced into replicas of the Weasley Twins, and aside from making Jacob a bit nauseous as the potion was wearing off, they had a wonderful time.

The couple also took the time to do a whirlwind tour of Greater London, as well as notable sites across the island. The Dursleys had seen to it that Harry had never seen his homeland, Hogwarts and the war had managed the rest. Stonehenge was a particularly interesting experience, as Jacob claimed he could feel 'something' around the ancient stones. Harry was especially quiet and reserved all that day and into the evening, but all he would say was "they're there, if we ever need them." He'd been in a clingy mood that night, which Jacob never objected to, even if the shifter was a bit miffed that his lover wouldn't tell him what had affected him so strongly.

The next day, Harry was back to normal, and the shopping spree in Harrods—which Jacob later described to the Pack as 'The Great Harrods Assault'—had them both laughing and exhausted at the end of the day. For years afterwards, 'going to Harrods' was slang in the Potter-Black household for an unbridled orgy of shopping.

One night was devoted to the London club scene, which ended early when Harry dragged Jacob back to their hotel room. The fifth time he'd had to chase away 'some slag'—the term applied to either sex, apparently—from his husband, Harry'd had enough. Eyes flashing, he'd more or less thrown Jacob onto their bed and ravished him unmercifully into the wee hours of the morning.

Jacob had been doing more than a little bit of chasing away slags himself. His husband was completely, adorably hot but wouldn't believe it no matter what Jacob said. Seeing his imprint in the throws of jealously had been an incredible turn on for the shifter. When Harry tossed him around like he weighed almost nothing, Jacob nearly exploded with lust.

Physically, Jacob knew he could snap Harry like a twig; he was three times Harry's mass, and much stronger. He also knew that he wasn't the powerful one in the relationship. Even without the constraints of the imprint, Jacob Black was well aware that Harry Potter was a powerful wizard, and in a stand up fight he wouldn't have lasted more than a few seconds. It was a measure not only of his love and devotion, but also his own strength of character, that Jacob was content with the situation.

Of course, Harry was usually the quiet, reserved one. He much preferred to let Jacob lead, and detested using his magic as a dominance tool. But, there were times when shy, self-effacing Harry gave way to the Scourge of Dark Lords, and that night was one of those times.

Jacob had been pushed into the room, and was fumbling with his (new from Harrods) shirt while Harry slammed the door shut and warded it like a Gringotts vault. The Quileute looked up to see his imprint stalking him, emerald eyes flashing, then the shifter found himself flying through the air, clothes shredded before he landed on the bed, flat on his back. The next thing he knew, an angry, aroused wizard was astride him, small hands on his chest, growling down at him while loose objects around the room rattled and danced.

"You. Are. MINE." Harry growled possessively, then slammed his hips down.

Jacob ground out "Mine!" in return, wrapped his hands around his lover's waist, and promptly lost the capacity for coherent speech.

The next morning, Jacob Black was a very smug, very happy puppy, indeed.

"You shredded my new shirt," he remarked over late breakfast.

"You have eleven more, and a catalogue," a completely unrepentant Harry Potter answered.

"But what am I going to wear out tonight?" Jacob teased. "That little blonde really liked the way it looked on me…." He was suddenly cut off.

Some time later, while he and his lover were dozing in each other's arms on the floor, Jacob smiled.

"Point to me," he thought, then kissed Harry's messy hair and pulled the little wizard closer.

* * *

That night marked a turning point in their relationship. Jacob realized that Harry had a bit of a possessive streak, and began to tease him about it from time to time. Harry, having just realized it himself, seemed to enjoy teasing right back, and also became much less reluctant to engage in public displays of affection. Jacob got the definite sense Harry was marking his territory, so to speak; his wolf understood and completely agreed. It wasn't long after that Jacob realized he'd already done the same thing back in America. The Pack, and to a lesser extent the Cullens, had no doubt that Harry was Jacob's, period, full stop. Of course, he just had to bring it up….

"You're marking me, like I'm your territory, or something," Jacob quipped, then fought the urge to slap himself for opening his big mouth.

Harry just grinned. "Yep. 'Bout time you figured it out," he said, reaching out and snagging a much-larger hand with his own.

"I'm not saying I mind, but…" Jacob shrugged. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

"No, you're not," Harry said, his face suddenly grim. "The bond won't let you." Then, he sighed, and his voice softened. "I'm sorry, love. Please don't think I'm still upset about the bond, it really is the best thing that's ever happened to me." He smiled, which made Jacob's happiness at being called 'love' just explode. "No, that's wrong. _You_ are the best thing that's ever happened to me. The bond isn't responsible for that."

"It just makes a good thing better?" Jacob smiled, pulling Harry's hand up for a kiss. Since they were strolling down the platform to board the train to Paris, several different expressions followed them at the sight.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, then gave a flat stare at one passerby who was glaring at the couple. "I realize it doesn't matter what anyone thinks," he explained. "I want you in my life, and I can't imagine not having you there. If some idiots don't accept that," he shrugged. "It's not my problem."

"You know what it does to me when you say things like that," Jacob grinned. They'd already had several talks about how the imprint worked on Jacob, specifically that it compelled him to make his imprint happy.

"I'm beginning to have some idea," Harry said dryly. Then, mischievously, he dropped Jacob's hand so that he could move his own hand to the taller man's butt. "If that little pink-haired skank doesn't stop staring at my husband's arse, I'm going to slap her tits off," he said conversationally.

"You say the sweetest things," Jacob snickered, then flexed his glutes.

"And you have the sweetest arse," Harry shot back.

"Nope, yours is," Jacob winked.

Harry's grin brought Jacob instantly to full erection. "Are you sure? I mean, it's been, what? Almost twelve hours? Maybe you need to check it, as soon as we get to Paris."

"Keep that up, and we'll join the Chunnel Club," Jacob growled.

"Chunnel Club?" Harry asked, curious. He'd never before heard the term.

Jacob shrugged easily. "Well, if there's a 'Mile-High Club', why not a 'Chunnel Club'?" he asked reasonably.

"Because it goes by too fast? Love, I don't think either of us could manage to do the deed in that short of time."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Jacob teased.

Harry shot his husband a dirty look. "Pfft! Prat!"

Jacob couldn't answer, as they had to board the train just then. But, as they both realized, Harry had been right.

The passage under the Channel went by very quickly.

* * *

Paris was everything it was supposed to be, and more. That they were two young lovers on their first trip to the City of Lights made it even more special. That they were there to lay the groundwork for having their first child—at some point, it had become 'kids', not 'kid'—was almost an afterthought.

What was planned as a two-day stay in France turned into a week, then ten days, and then two weeks. The healers at L'hôpital de Miracles were aghast at Harry's general condition. Jacob had known that Harry's childhood hadn't been ideal, but hearing things like 'signs of chronic malnutrition' and 'definite physical abuse' had his blood boiling. Even worse was the healer's shock at reviewing Harry's medical history once he attended Hogwarts. That he'd not received appropriate treatments for his childhood deprivation was beyond comprehension, especially when Harry told them he was a frequent visitor to the school's hospital wing.

Unbeknownst to Harry and Jacob, Healer Armand Latour contacted St. Mungo's, as well as the ICW Office of the Healing Arts to register a complaint against Poppy Pomfrey. He included the results of Harry's tests, which he regarded as _prima facia_ evidence that the school's mediwitch had been guilty of both malpractice and malfeasance. When questioned about the case, a tearful Poppy Pomfrey swore that she'd notified St. Mungo's several times, but never received any reply to her requests for a wizarding Child Services consultation. She also provided pensieve memories of having given Harry numerous treatments that he obviously hadn't had. Further examination of the mediwitch revealed a number of memory charms, as well as a number of compulsion charms that appeared to be old and fading. The investigation eventually cleared Poppy of all charges, with the final report suggesting that Albus Dumbledore had been responsible for the manipulation of the nurse as part of his greater schemes surrounding the Boy Who Lived. It prompted an evaluation of a number of student medical records, to see if treatments had been needed but not actually given during Dumbledore's tenure as Headmaster. Fortunately, there were no other signs that the Old Coot had interfered with other student's care.

Predictably, the story leaked to the press, who had the expected field day. Fortunately for Harry's peace of mind, by the time the story ran on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_, he was too busy dealing with the effects of a number of medicinal potions to worry about it. He did, however, receive a visit from a distraught Poppy Pomfrey, who cried over him until Jacob forcibly removed her from Harry's room. Then, Jacob received his own dose of crying, as Poppy apologized to him as well for what she'd allowed Harry to go through. Eventually, Jacob was able to convince the mediwitch that neither he nor Harry bore her any ill will, and that Harry was undergoing corrective treatment there in Paris. Jacob was so impressed with the woman's sincerity that he invited her to come visit them in America. Poppy agreed, and then shocked the young man by informing him that she would be present at Harry's delivery, as well as doing frequent checks during the pregnancy itself. She left shortly thereafter, leaving a stunned and amused Quileute behind her.

Harry balked when Healer Latour recommended several days of inpatient treatment before he would even consider clearing Harry for childbearing. All Jacob had to hear was two words: "too risky". After that, it was a foregone conclusion that Harry Potter-Black was NOT going anywhere until the doctors were satisfied.

Healer Latour wisely stepped out of the examination room and silenced the door while Harry and Jacob 'discussed their options'. When he returned, he found a fuming Harry Potter-Black sitting there, his grim-faced husband standing over him. Jacob informed the Healer that yes, Harry was going to begin the treatments immediately.

After that, things went fairly smoothly. The hospital staff adjusted quickly to Jacob's being present for most of Harry's medication times. Never a good patient, a sullen Harry nonetheless swallowed his potions while glaring at the huge man standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed over his massive chest and glaring right back. The first day was the worst, but Jacob Black was not going to put up with any nonsense. Harry was going to get what he needed, period. Jacob promised the staff that, if needed, he'd hold the little jerk down for them to pour stuff down his throat, and no one doubted him for a second.

That the 'little jerk' in question was a powerful wizard and celebrity to boot never entered into it. Jacob obviously didn't care, and since he was going to be the one doing the holding, what could the staff say? So, they brought the potions, stood there to take back the empty vials, and then ran.

The staff heard more than one conversation like this:

"I hate you."

"Good. Drink up."

*drinks* "Gaaah! That's horrible!"

"It's medicine. It's supposed to be awful."

"It tastes like old socks!"

"Mine or yours?"

"Yours. The ones you wear with your boots, after a day in the shop."

"The ones you make me leave in the laundry room 'cause they stink so bad?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm…isn't there a jelly bean flavor like that?"

"Prat."

*grins* "Love you, too."

*sigh* "I know. Still tastes nasty."

"Poor baby. Now, what flavor of ice cream do you want?"

Jacob quickly became something of an expert on different flavors of sorbet and gelato, and the shops close to the hospital began to look for him on a regular basis. Harry, for the most part, just lay there and ached a bit—one attempt to refuse a pain potion ended when Jacob growled at him—and slept, while his body healed.

It was during these naps that Jacob and Draco Malfoy came to know each other. Draco appeared on the third day of Harry's hospitalization, part of a group of Potion Masters and students who were assessing their patient. After a bit of an initial shock, Harry and Draco greeted each other coolly but civilly. Draco came back later that day to inform Harry and Jacob that he would personally be providing the complex potions Harry would need for his pregnancy. That announcement caused a rather heated discussion that culminated with Draco's magical oath.

The Malfoy heir was a bit surprised the next day when Jacob came looking for him. Potter's brute of a lover was looking for dirt on Harry's life, and Draco was all too glad to accommodate him.

"So, yes, Potter was a complete git when we were in school. Dumbledore programmed him from the first to hate Slytherins, just like all good little Gryffs."

"I still don't see why which dorm you sleep in matters all that much," Jacob shook his head.

"It's more than where you sleep," Draco insisted. "Being sorted into a particular House is one of the most important events in a wizard's life…."

"Now wait a minute! You mean, you put a magical hat on your head, and it determines what you'll do in life?" Jacob couldn't believe it.

Draco just shrugged. Muggles. Clueless as always. "It's more than that. Being Slytherin or Gryffindor tells others something about you, as well as instantly giving you a peer group of connections you call on for life," he tried to explain. "It's like…well, like four different 'tribes', all in one school", he said, using the best explanation he could come up with.

"Even if that's true, aren't you all still students at the same school?" Jacob said, scrunching his face up as he thought about it.

"Well, yes, but...I suppose you have to experience it to understand," Draco said.

"I guess," Jacob said, obviously not convinced. "Tell me more about Harry, and what he did at school."

"Well, there was the time he nearly killed himself—again—during a Quidditch match, and nearly swallowed the Snitch at the same time," Draco grinned, then spent the next two hours sharing all manner of embarrassing details about Potter's Hogwarts career with his husband. Ah, sweet revenge! And, best of all, Potter wasn't anywhere around to dispute Draco's version of events!

To their mutual surprise, Harry and Draco began to warm to each other. No longer under the pressures of school and the manipulations of older, more powerful wizards, the two actually shared a dry sense of humor and the willingness to use it on each other. Jacob didn't understand half of what the pair would fire back and forth, but since it always left Harry in a better mood, the Quileute didn't interrupt them.

Finally, Dr. Latour pronounced himself satisfied, and Poppy Pomfrey—returned to Paris at her own insistence—agreed. Harry's body had grown almost four inches—he'd never be tall, or even reach his full growth potential, but four inches was a considerable boost—his bones and muscles had been repaired and strengthened, and his internal organs given a much-needed boost. To Jacob's critical eye, his lover practically glowed with health, and the shifter swore to himself that Harry would stay that way.

The next few days were spent sightseeing and shopping while Draco used a bit of both Potter-Black's blood to begin concocting the first series of potions Harry would take once he returned to Forks. Jacob had asked Draco about having to give a blood sample. Harry he could understand, but why him?

"I assume that you're planning on fathering this child?" Draco had drawled.

"Yes," Jacob's growl made Draco pity anyone else who even thought about trying to father a child on Harry Potter.

"Well, I need to be certain the potions will accept whatever it is you call that thing you do, without hurting Harry or the baby, or causing a miscarriage, or…."

"Okay, okay, I get it! Here!" Jacob thrust out his arm and turned his head. While Draco was taking the sample, Jacob muttered, "it's called 'shifting', and it lets me protect my tribe from vampires," he said, then turned back as Draco put a bandage on the puncture wound. "And smart-ass wizards who piss me off," he grinned wolfishly.

"Pity this smart-ass wizard is so useful, isn't it?" Draco snickered back. Merlin help him, he actually liked this boy! He really wasn't a muggle, and 'Dark Creature' only applied to his hair and eyes, but he did have good taste in frozen confections and always brought enough to share…with an invading army.

"Nah. I heard one of the other Potions Masters say that they'd love to work with Harry," Jacob grinned.

Draco's sniff was all the answer Jacob got, but it was enough to have him grinning all the rest of the day…especially when he told Harry!

**A/N:** Thanks to all of you for your kind reviews. There have been a couple of less than complimentary ones, I'm trying to ignore them. Apparently some people can't read, or don't know that AU means "alternative universe". You'd think that a cross-over would make that obvious, but apparently not. Still and all, the vast majority of reviews have been favorable. I'm glad that so many people seem to like this fic enough to 'Favorite' or 'Follow' it.

Just a few things: the fights between Harry and Jacob aren't any more dramatic because the bond doesn't like it when they fight. It's actively working to damp that kind of thing down, and support the happy/love feelings. Personally, I rather envy the boys that. In this particular universe, it's Statutes, plural. Since when can a bureaucracy ever only do ONE of any regulation? (hint: NEVER) There's not any more Weasley screen time because Neville kept them away from Harry, and Jacob would have ripped several throats out, and that would have been messy. And, for you pervy gits: yes, Jacob is usually the active partner while Harry is usually the passive partner. That's not to say they don't occasionally change places, but they know what they like and tend to stick with that. Yes, you can assume that the hot tub has been properly christened...along with pretty much every horizontal and most of the vertical surfaces in the house and surrounding forest, by the time the fic is over. You'll find out why.

If any of you feel especially motivated to write omakes (hot tub scenes, etc), feel free. I'll tack them on the end of the piece. Please keep them mild, though; this isn't PWP.

**Next Chapter:** Home again, and problems with potions. There's a bit of excitement with an army of rampaging vamps, another of the Pack imprints on a wizard, and Miss Swan gets one final scene. It's the last chapter of this story.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** The last chapter. Rather than spoil things, I think I'll just shut up now and let you find out for yourself.

**DISCLAIMER AND WARNING: SLASH and MPREG. See Chapter 1.**

**CHAPTER 5**

Jacob and Harry's return party with the Pack, Billy and the Cullens was a howling success. Harry's ability to shrink things let them bring back a truly awesome amount of presents in a single carry-on, and everyone seemed to like their loot.

The Cullens were especially fond of the boxes and boxes of blood pops and other bloody confections (WWW had branched out), while the Pack enjoyed the Wheezes and non-blood-based magical candy by the crate.

Billy did make a few comments about 'sugar-crazed kids', but nothing happened that a few _Reparos_—and a quick visit by the handyman—couldn't fix.

The leech-versus-mutt wrestling matches were so popular that they became something of a regular occurrence. Harry's declaration that his property was 'neutral ground', outside of the treaty's authority, helped tremendously. Having a place where both groups could fully cut loose—magical protections against 'the muggles' were a wonderful thing—without having to worry about secrecy or damage was unanimously considered a Great Idea.

Leah and Rosalie weren't asked what they thought about the arrangement. Nobody cared.

No one dared challenge Harry's pronouncement, which helped even more. His potions were making him somewhat irritable, and an irritable Harry Potter had a tendency to go into the forest and blast trees into toothpicks. Even on their worst days, Lean and Rosalie weren't going to tickle that dragon.

Since it wasn't his wedding day, Jacob was allowed to participate in the homecoming wrestling matches, and quickly met his match in Emmett. The two were close to each other in size, strength, and speed, everything that mattered. When Carlisle pointed out that Jasper could instruct them all in hand-to-hand techniques, training sessions became an ongoing event.

Any objections the Elders might have had about the Pack training with a bunch of leeches were quickly squashed. Sam and Jacob immediately saw the benefits of having the Pack learn new ways of fighting leeches, and the Cullens knew that other vampires were a constant threat to them all.

Some of the Pack grumbled about learning to fight in human form, but Jacob pointed out there might be times when they'd need to fight in a public place. Since shifting in public would be bad, better have other tricks up their sleeves. Besides, it helped win wrestling matches with the leeches….

Once the initial irritability passed, everyone had fun at Harry and Jacob's expense during the first few weeks of Harry's fertility treatments. The males were secretly envious of Jacob, and the females were impressed by the Quileute's sheer stamina when Harry's libido skyrocketed. This period only lasted about a month, however, and ended one morning when Harry jumped of bed and ran to the bathroom.

Jacob had gotten used to waking up with Harry on top of him, riding Jacob's 'morning broomstick'. Yes, it was corny wizard talk, but Jacob wasn't usually in the mood to object. Harry running from the bed, then retching sounds coming from the bathroom, had the shifter out of bed and holding his imprint's head carefully over the toilet in seconds.

"Harry, love…is this what I think it is?" he'd asked gently.

"I think so," Harry said between gags. Then, despite the heaves, he smiled. "Morning sickness."

Luckily, Harry had a good grip on the toilet. Jacob collapsed against the bathroom wall, a shocked grin on his face.

"We did it?" was all he could say.

Harry didn't answer. He was too busy puking.

* * *

They had indeed 'done it'. Later that morning, after a stomach-soothing meal of dry toast and tea for Harry and Jacob's usual pile of eggs and bacon, Harry cast a pregnancy spell on himself. The golden glow over his lower abdomen left both men speechless for quite some time as they just looked at the glow, and each other. They spent a long time sharing identical goofy grins…then Harry threw up again.

Other than his being male, Harry's pregnancy was rather run of the mill. He developed the usual cravings for odd foods, the worst of which was sauerkraut and chocolate sauce, with sashimi on the side. Even the Pack, who would generally eat anything and everything in the house, looked a bit green at Harry blithely eating ketchup on breakfast cereal (it turned the milk bright pink) at four o'clock in the afternoon.

Probably the worst thing for Jacob was not the midnight food cravings—house elves rock! —but the mood swings. The single worst incident of the pregnancy came during Harry's fifth month, when a group of vampires arrived in the area, intending murder, mayhem, and a bit of vengeance on the Cullens. Harry, caught up in his pregnancy, was never really sure about the details, only that suddenly there was all manner of excitement and his house was being used as a planning and staging area by the Pack and the Coven. When Harry asked, all anyone would tell him was they were planning a surprise party, then quickly walk away.

Winky would invariably appear at that point with some treat for Harry, or insist that Master Harry Sir lie down for a nap. Since not even Harry would argue with a determined Winky, he ate his snack or took his nap.

What finally caught Harry's attention was Jacob standing over him while Billy sat in front of him in his chair.

"Love, Billy's going to be here for the next few hours while I'm out. I want you to let him and Winky take care of you, and don't leave the house until I get back, okay?" Then, with a quick kiss, Jacob was gone, and the whole house seemed empty.

"What's going on?" Harry demanded. For days there hadn't been a moment's peace around the place and now…nothing.

Billy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He knew they were safe inside the house, and probably on the property as well. He'd watched his son-in-law ward the property, after all. Still, everyone had taken pains to keep Harry out of the loop about the whole mess, despite Billy's warnings that doing so was a terrible idea. Now, the older man had to try and explain things to a suspicious, pregnant wizard whose husband had just gone off to fight an army of vampires.

"It's really nothing," Billy lied through his teeth. "Just a few leeches that've come looking for trouble. The kids are off taking care of them, and they'll be back in time for supper. What're we having, by the way?"

Harry glared at his father-in-law. He loved Billy dearly, but the man couldn't lie to him worth a damn. Harry smelled a rat, so he did something he normally would never do…Harry used a gentle Legilimency probe on the tribal Elder.

"An ARMY of vampires? Are they CRAZY?" Harry screamed, and before Billy could grab him, was off the couch and out the door. Two minutes later saw Harry struggling into his basilisk-leather armor, cursing as it pulled tight over his small baby bump. A quick wave of the Elder Wand brought his Nimbus to his hand, and before Billy or Winky could say more than a few words, an irate Harry Potter tore into the sky.

Whatever the 'army' of vampires was expecting, one lone man on a broomstick wasn't it. Harry hit the mob of undead like a tsunami, shattering and scattering burning ashes across the countryside with wild abandon. When the Pack, the Coven and their allies arrived, it was to see Harry Potter standing in the center of a battlefield, arm waving over his head as he wielded a long whip of flame against the last of the vampires. Around the field, several burning shapes chased down stragglers, or a gesture from Harry's free hand exploded them. Instead of the battle they'd been planning for days, all that was left for them was the mopping up.

Harry stalked to where a stunned group of wolves and vampires looked out over the carnage he'd wrought.

"I stopped the Fiendfyre. Those are just normal fires burning now," he snapped. "Better put them out. I don't want to be the cause of a major forest fire. I think some of them ran off that way," he tossed his head in the general direction he'd seen a few vampires disappear. Then he was gone, robes flapping around him with the speed of his departure.

"Dude, you are so dead" was Emmett's comment to Jacob. No one disagreed.

* * *

When Jacob returned home that night, he found Harry silently fuming on the couch in their living room.

"Harry, love…it's me," Jacob called from the door. Startling his husband was the last thing he wanted to do. Hearing no answer, the large man slowly walked into the room and knelt before his imprint.

"You shouldn't put your father in a position like that. You know he couldn't stop me from coming after you." Harry's voice was cold and flat.

Jacob sighed and dropped his head. "I know, love, it's just…."

"It's just that you don't trust me to help you!" Jacob's head snapped up at Harry's screech.

"You're pregnant with our baby! I didn't want you anywhere you could be hurt!" Jacob's fear and anger suddenly exploded, and he matched Harry's volume.

"I'm not fragile! You needed me, but you left me here! What if you'd been hurt?" Harry screamed in Jacob's face. Then, he fell back, sobbing. "What if you'd been killed? Our child needs a father."

Jacob's anger dissolved instantly. "Oh, love," he said, moving to sweep a resisting Harry into his arms. "I couldn't stand the thought of something happening to you or the baby. What if you'd been bitten? What would leech venom do to you, or the baby? I just couldn't take you with us, and I knew you'd come if you knew," he crooned.

Harry shook at the thought of the damage vampire venom could have done to his pregnancy, and his sobbing redoubled. Through it, he managed to get out, "but I didn't get hurt. And you could have been killed, too."

"Harry, love, I heal fast…and I'm not the one who's got our baby inside him," Jacob said gently. He carded his hand through Harry's messy hair, as always loving the way it felt.

"But you don't have magic to protect you," Harry sniffed.

"No, just fur, teeth, claws, and shifter healing," Jacob kissed the mop of hair.

"You're still killable," Harry insisted.

"And you're the Master of Death, I know," Jacob sighed. "We've talked about that, love," he went on, pulling Harry into his lap, the wizard now actively clinging to him rather than trying to pull away. "You can still be bitten."

"I know. It's just…." Harry sniffed and buried his head against his lover's chest.

"You're 'arry bloody Potter and you 'ave a saving people thing," Jacob used his worst British accent.

"Prat."

"Is that any way to talk to the father of your child?"

Harry leaned back to look up at his husband. "What does that make me? The mommy?"

Jacob grinned down at the most important person in his world. "Well, duh."

Harry sobered instantly. "I don't remember my Mum, or my Dad," he said, so softly Jacob almost didn't hear him.

"Well, our baby will have both parents, and will probably tell its friends what horrible parents we are." Jacob gave his husband a gentle squeeze.

"It's not an 'it'. He's a boy," Harry said, his eyes shining. "Stop calling him 'it'."

Jacob gasped. "I thought you didn't want to know!"

Harry looked away, embarrassed. "When I got back, I was so mad…then I started crying, then I was thinking about what a good rug you'd make for this room after I skinned you…then I went ahead and cast the sex-revealing spell."

Jacob shook his head at the rambling he'd just heard and focused on the important thing. "So, it's a boy?" he asked, just to make sure he'd heard it right.

"Want to see?" Harry asked, then pulled back a bit, wiped his nose on his sleeve and pulled his shirt up. "Watch," he said, then pulled out his holly wand, waved it over his small bump and whispered a few words Jacob didn't catch. Immediately, a small golden glow formed over the lump in Harry's previously flat stomach. The glow wavered for a moment, then changed to a bright blue that pulsed softly, rapidly.

"It's beating with the baby's heart," Harry explained. "I looked it up in the baby book, and it's supposed to be that fast. He's fine," the wizard finished, then dispelled the glow.

Jacob sat there, stunned for a moment. Then, he leaned down and stopped Harry from pulling his shirt back down.

"Hey, little guy. This is your dad. I can't wait to see you, but I don't want you to come out until it's time. Your mom and I love you very much…just like I love your mom," he said. Then, he gently pressed his lips to the swelling. "Love you. Love you both."

Harry snorted at being called 'mom', but seeing his husband kiss the place where their baby was growing moved him in ways that he couldn't explain.

"Jacob, I couldn't stay here, knowing you were in danger. I know," Harry raised his hand. "You and the rest—who are all going to pay dearly, by the way—were just trying to protect me. I don't need protecting. I'm not going to break."

"I know you don't, but I'm going to do it anyway," Jacob said sternly. He lightly touched a finger to his husband's lips, stopping Harry from speaking. "And you're going to let me. If you're allowed to have a 'saving people' thing, I can have a 'protecting my pregnant husband and baby' thing. No arguments. You'll only loose." Jacob stared at Harry until the smaller man looked away.

"I'm not kidding, Harry. I'm not going to let you risk yourself, or my son, unless there's absolutely no other option." Jacob felt the imprint bond twist a bit, but ignored it. He was not going to back down on this, imprint be damned.

Just then Harry looked up at him, smiling, and the bond thrummed happily. "I suppose I have to go along, don't I?" he asked, eyes moist and shining.

"Yes," Jacob said, keeping his face impassive.

Harry shrugged, then leaned in for a cuddle. "Well, okay, then. But, in case another vampire army shows up, can we at least discuss it? There really is a lot I can do to help that won't put me or the baby at risk."

Jacob wrapped his arms around his lover and pulled him closer. "As long as you realize that I'm not kidding about keeping you safe."

Harry settled himself more comfortably. "I know, love, I know." And, as he sat there, Harry realized that he did indeed know that Jacob would do whatever it took to keep him, and the child growing inside of him, safe from anything that might threaten them.

It really was a wonderful feeling.

* * *

Harry woke up from his nap the following day to the sound of an argument downstairs. He'd gone up for a nap, because destroying a vampire army had taken quite a bit out of him. He'd managed to convince Jacob not to carry him upstairs, but it was a near thing.

Knowing his husband would be keeping things quite during his nap, the loud voices made him pick up his wand and silently move towards the stairs. He was ready to attack or defend at need…until he recognized the louder of the voices, and paused halfway down the stairway.

"…but it should have been you, Jacob, not Quil! You should have been the one with me, keeping me safe, you and Edward!"

Harry's lip curled in a sneer as Bella Swan's nasal whine floated up to where he was standing. Well, that explained the noise.

"Bells, you know I had to be with the rest of the Pack, and Quil volunteered. Besides…" Jacob was trying to reason with the shrew, so Harry decided to stay where he was and listen.

"But I wanted you, Jake," Bella insisted. "I wanted you to be the one keeping me safe, with Edward."

"You know that Edward and I don't get along," Jacob huffed, and Harry grinned as he imagined the look on his lover's face. Harry also knew that Jacob and Edward were fine together…so long as Miss Swan wasn't with them. If she was, she couldn't seem to keep herself from trying to play one against the other. She'd toyed with Jacob before falling for the broody vampire and still gave off the air of not being able to decide just which of the two she wanted to be with. Harry didn't think she did it intentionally—that was why she hadn't been slapped or hexed thus far—but he was far past the point where her adolescent fumblings were amusing. He started to storm in and give the bitch a piece of his mind, but then he heard Jacob, and paused.

"You wanted me there so you could throw Edward in my face." Jacob's voice was cold as an Alaskan winter.

"No, Jacob! I just…."

"Oh, come off it, Bells!" Jacob interrupted the girl's empty protests. "You can't stand it, can you? I'm not there to cry on when everything doesn't go your way, and you can't stand it, can you? Well, here's a hint, Bella: I. Am. Married. To. Harry. I'm quite happy about that, and even happier that I'm going to be a dad. You told me you wanted to be with Edward, so fine! Go be with your leech, and get him to make you a vampire, just like he is. Then, you two can be miserable forever!"

"Jacob! It's not…" Bella tried once more, but this time it was a new voice that cut into her shrieking.

"Of course it's not, Bella. You wouldn't think about poaching another man's husband, now would you?" Harry strode into the room, well aware that the t-shirt and sleep pants he was wearing let his baby bump show.

"Of course not," Bella snapped, her expression an ugly mix of fury and disgust. "Two men being together is bad enough, but a pregnant man is just unnatural!"

"Freakish, isn't it?" Harry grinned, enjoying the word for once. "Well, I suppose it is to you, what with you being muggle and all," he said, making the word a curse. "But, for us supernatural people…not so much," he shrugged, then turned his face up for a kiss from his bemused husband. Once his head was away from the woman, Harry winked at Jacob, kissed him, and then turned back to the sputtering Miss Swan. "Of course, there are those who would say a relationship between a muggle and a corpse isn't terribly natural, either."

"Edward is not a corpse, and you know it!" Bella stamped her foot, her face turning red.

"No pulse. No heartbeat. Cold as ice. Sounds like a corpse to me," Harry shrugged, leaning back into Jacob's welcoming arms.

"He's a vampire! And I'm…."

"An entrée, to most of his kind." Harry's smirk was back full force. "Yes, he's a walking corpse. Just like I am a wizard, and my husband is a shapeshifter, while you," Harry paused, letting his words sink in, "are still just a muggle. A perfectly normal, run-of-the-mill, standard issue, rather clumsy muggle." Once again, Harry paused, shaking his head, a sad expression on his face. "It must be difficult for you, being so thoroughly normal while everyone around you is…not."

Bella's fists clenched so hard her knuckles cracked, and the veins in her neck stood out while she raged in place. "At least when I have a baby it'll be the normal way," she shouted at last.

"If you consider necrophilia 'normal'," Harry answered silkily. "Unlike wizards, where male pregnancy has been an option for the last several hundred years." He very carefully left out that it was still a rarity. Bella didn't need to know that.

"It's still just wrong," Bella insisted. "If Jacob had imprinted on a woman, none of this would have happened."

"You mean, if I had imprinted on you, don't you, Bella?" Jacob spoke up, tightening his grip on Harry, making sure to leave his wand arm free. "Then you could have had both me and Edward; him as your lover and me as your lap dog. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

"You know it's not, Jacob Black! I just…."

"It's Potter-Black, Bells. I'm married, remember?"

"That's another thing! That…travesty you had here on the Rez; I asked Charlie and it's not legal! You're not really married!"

Harry sighed theatrically, turning his head to look up at his husband. "She's right, you know. Technically, we're not married in the State of Washington." Then, just as Bella was beginning to swell with the conviction she'd won the argument, the Man Who Won turned his head back to her slowly. "We share a magical bond that is registered with the American Department of Magical Affairs and the International Confederation of Wizards. For us, that carries more weight than any marriage certificate, mainly because our bond can never be dissolved." Harry wiggled back against Jacob's wide chest shamelessly and was rewarded not only with a kiss to the top of his head, but also by Bella's look of unbridled fury.

"It's still disgusting! Jacob shouldn't have to be stuck with you!"

"Bella, dear," Harry purred, his voice cutting through Bella's ranting easily. "Jacob isn't 'stuck' with me. We're together because both of our magics fit together perfectly. We were literally made for each other…but of course, you wouldn't understand, what with you being a muggle and all."

"Stop calling me that! I know it's an insult!" Bella looked like she was about to have a stroke.

Harry affected a confused look. "But Bella…it's the common term, I meant no insult. I think you've got it confused with 'mudblood'. Now there's an insult!" Harry smiled back guilelessly. "Mudblood is not only an insult against you, but also against your parents and their poor choice of reproductive partners. Of course, for it to really be accurate, you'd have to be magical in the first place, so…." Harry shrugged (as best he could while wrapped up in Jacob's arms) and kept the innocent look on his face.

Bella's face was rapidly changing from red to Vernon Dursley purple. "Jacob's not magic," she grated out, then grimaced as she immediately realized just how idiotic that sounded. True to form, she couldn't stop there, but had to compound her idiocy. "He's…he's a shapeshifter, not a witch!" she declared, tossing her head in triumph.

"And just how, dear Bella, do you explain why a human being can take on the form of a giant wolf, if not by magic?" Harry purred. "As far as I know, it violates every known rule of muggle physics. In any case, he'd be a wizard, not a witch. Wizards are boys, witches are girls," Harry explained in a voice suitable for a three year old.

"I don't know, but it's not the same magic you do!" Bella stamped her foot, now completely furious.

"Oh, agreed. Isn't that right, love?" Harry didn't have to look up to know that Jacob was nodding his head, since his chin was gently knocking on the top of Harry's skull. "It's certainly not the same, but it's similar enough that when Jacob _imprinted on me_," Harry's emphasis was clear, "my magic responded by imprinting _me_ on _him_. It's really quite wonderful, even if it's something that rarely happens."

"There are legends about Quileute medicine women bonding to shifters like this," Jacob broke in. "Their children are always described as 'great protectors' of the tribe. So, my little guy is going to be a Great Protector," he said proudly, placing one hand gently over Harry's bump. "And all his brothers and sisters, too."

"That is just…so wrong," Bella spat. She looked like she was going to vomit.

"No, Bells. What would have been wrong would have been for you and I to be together. That would have been…" Jacob broke off, shuddering at the thought.

Bella visibly pulled herself together and tried one last time. "But Jake," she whined. "We were such good friends, before he came here…" she shot Harry a look that should have, by all rights, left him dead on the floor.

"You mean, before Edward came, and you went all dreamy for the leech," Jacob growled.

Bella at least had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Well, yes, but…."

"Jacob, love, could you carry me back upstairs? I wasn't finished with my nap," Harry asked, turning in his lover's arms to smile up at him. He didn't think the Swan bitch would try anything when his back was turned, and Jacob was still watching her anyway.

"Of course, baby," Jacob swept Harry into his arms effortlessly, and the pair made for the stairs.

"Bella, I'm sure you can see yourself out. I want Jacob to lie down with me and rub my back." Harry dismissed the fuming young woman from where he lay in Jacob's arms. Then, just to salt the wound a bit more, "Winky, please show the lady out. We don't want to be disturbed for the rest of the afternoon." His suggestive wink and leer at Bella made the purple color even darker.

"Youse is to be leaving now. Master Harry Sir said so," Winky announced, appearing with a soft pop at Bella's elbow.

Bella looked down at the little creature scowling up at her and started to object. Then, she thought better of it, and did the smart thing. She left.

The sound of Harry and Jacob's laughter drifting down the stairs made her slam the door behind her.

That only made them laugh harder.

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey, true to her word, appeared shortly after news of Harry's successful conception reached England. She examined him thoroughly, pronounced both Harry and fetus healthy, then announced that she would return in a month to repeat the exam. At her third visit, Harry worked up the nerve to speak with the venerable mediwitch about something that had been bothering him since her first visit.

"Poppy, you don't have to do this. I have a perfectly good magical obstetrician in Seattle, and the magical wing at University Medical Center is one of the best in this hemisphere. If I needed it, UCSF's Medical Center is just a portkey away, and they're another world-class magical facility. This isn't Britain, where it's St. Mungo's or nothing. I know trans-Atlantic portkeys aren't cheap, and then there's the cross-continental one from New York to here, and then back again."

"Mr. Potter, I…."

"Poppy! Please, it's Harry. Just Harry."

Poppy smiled down at the young man lying on the couch in his living room. "Harry," she began again. "I feel I owe it to you, for all those years when I didn't give you proper treatment."

Harry sat up and patted the couch beside him, wanting Poppy to sit. When she was settled, he looked at her sternly. Well, he tried; his looks hadn't worked on Poppy Pomfrey yet and probably never would.

"Poppy, you don't owe me anything. We both know you did everything you could; well, everything the Old Coot would let you do."

Poppy sighed. "I know that, Mr. Po…Harry," she shook her head. "It's just…."

Harry reached out and wrapped the nurse in a hug, which was all it took for Poppy's emotional dam to break. She began sobbing against the young man, who held her and let her cry herself out.

The pair were like that when Jacob walked in a short time later.

"I see how it is. I leave you alone for five minutes and you're already picking up strange women!" he boomed.

Harry's laughter was just what Poppy Pomfrey needed to hear. And, the tea that Winky appeared with didn't hurt, either.

* * *

Nurse Pomfrey discovered the very next month that her galleons were no good at any international portkey office in Europe or North America. With his usual efficiency, Eddie Spindle had seen to that.

For his part, Harry just sat there patiently while the enraged mediwitch railed at him. When she finally wound down, he grinned up at her. "Remember all those times you kept me chained to a bed in the Hogwarts infirmary? Payback's a bitch."

Not even the nurse's most repressive look stopped Jacob from rolling on the floor laughing at that one. Needless to say, that was one argument Poppy Pomfrey didn't win.

* * *

Terry Boot performed his own scan of an obviously pregnant Harry Potter-Black and stepped back, satisfied.

"Healthy fetus, healthy 'mother'," the young man grinned. "Six months, four days gestation by crown-rump length, which corresponds to the probably time of conception. Other than the man bits, I'd say it's a perfectly normal pregnancy."

"I agree. You're doing quite well, Harry." Poppy smiled down at her favorite patient.

Harry smiled and sat up with only a bit of difficulty. He'd been pleasantly surprised when Poppy showed up with Terry in tow, explaining that the young man was about to finish his basic healer's training at St. Mungo's. Harry suspected there was a story there—as a muggleborn, it must have been difficult for the Ravenclaw to get an apprenticeship at the magical hospital; strings must have been pulled—but since he was at the very top of his class, he'd obviously kept the position on his own merits. He'd asked to come because he was planning to attend muggle university and then medical school, and was seriously considering leaving Britain to do so. This was an excuse to get away from London for a few days and see the sites, and scout the lay of the land while he was at it. Madam Pomfrey—now on staff at St. Mungo's full-time—had regaled him with stories of Harry's condition, and all but dragged him along with her. The nurse was planning on spending some time exploring the wilds of the American West Coast, and wanted someone 'young and vigorous' to accompany her.

Winky was just serving tea to the threesome when the Pack exploded through the front door. Laughing and shouting at one another, they invaded Harry's house like a herd of stampeding buffalo, all of them wearing the brown tunic and leggings Harry had enchanted to disappear and reappear when they shifted. Quil, Embry, Seth and Brady went straight to the kitchen, while Jacob peeled off at the entrance to the living room, going straight to his husband and planting a kiss on his head. Leah was right behind him, complaining about something Embry had thought at her earlier on patrol.

Harry cut her off. "'lo, love," he said, smiling at Jacob. "Leah, this is Madam Pomfrey, my mediwitch, and Healer Terry Boot. Poppy, Terry, this is Miss Leah Clearwater; the only known female Quileute shapeshifter."

Poppy nodded from her seat beside Harry but Terry shot to his feet. "Miss Clearwater," he said, giving her a slight bow. Leah, confused by the young man's old-world manners, stood there, momentarily nonplussed. When Terry stood, his eyes met Leah's…and a pulse of magic leaped between the pair. Poppy's eyes widened as she felt it, while Harry's mouth dropped open and Jacob's head snapped around. Terry and Leah both swayed towards each other…and then Leah was gone, the door banging against the wall as she threw it open in her haste.

The rest of the Pack thundered into the room, having felt the surge of magic, confused but ready to fight.

"What…?" "Harry, did you…?" "What just happened?" "Was that you, Harry?" Everyone was desperate to know what had just happened.

Harry looked a question at Jacob, who nodded back, a grin beginning to form on his face. Turning to a still-swaying Terry Boot, Harry waved him back into his seat. "Terry, you need to sit down for this." The young healer didn't so much sit as collapse into the chair.

"What…who…I…" he stammered, then took the vial Poppy produced from somewhere and swallowed the contents in one gulp. The calming draught's effects were immediate. "What just happened?" he asked, once again in control of his words.

"Terry, I think you need to consider extending your visit," Harry smiled at the young Brit. "You're welcome to stay here indefinitely. I don't think my husband will object to having a healer in the house full time." He snickered at Jacob's snort then continued. "Actually, I think the main question at this point is whether you want to be a Huskie, a Beaver, or a Duck."

At the thoroughly confused look on Poppy and (especially) Terry's face, every shifter in the room burst out laughing.

* * *

It only took an hour or so to explain to Terry and an amused Poppy Pomfrey about the mascots for the Universities of Washington, Oregon and Oregon State, then about the imprinting that had just occurred.

"So…we're bound in a magical contract? Just like you and that bloody Goblet in fourth year?" Terry asked for the third time.

"Contract? No, not like that," Harry assured him. "It's more of a soul bond than anything else."

"But I've never laid eyes on the bird until just now!" the young healer protested.

"She's a wolf, actually. Like me," Jacob put in helpfully. It was just he, Harry, Poppy and Terry in the living room; the rest of the Pack having been banished to the kitchen where Winky was currently 'forcing' them to eat a 'light snack' to tide them over until evening. Knowing Winky and the Pack, there was enough food being cooked and eaten to feed half of Ethiopia for a week.

"Terry, what matters is that your magic and Leah's are perfectly compatible. Her imprint will compel her to be whatever it is that will make you happy, and your bond—if it's anything like mine with Jacob—will do much the same for you. You'll still be your own man, of course, just like she'll still have her own free will." Harry shrugged. "I know, it sounds rather horrible at first, but really, it's brilliant."

"I don't much like the sound of that 'compel her to be what I want' bit," Terry said sourly.

"Mr. Boot…I guess I'd better start calling you 'Terry', since you're practically family," Jacob grinned. "The imprint isn't slavery. It's…it's more like, our imprint means more to us than anything else, and we're fine with that. If you need a friend, then Leah will be that friend. There's no law that says you have to be anything more."

"But you said that you wolves usually marry your imprint, didn't you? I don't even know her, much less want to marry her!" Terry shook his head. "I certainly don't like this 'have to stay nearby or she'll die' bit! That's worse than being a house elf," he said bitterly.

"Being a house elf is being a good thing, when Master Harry Sir and his Jakey is being your masters," Winky said primly, popping in with a fresh tray of biscuits. "The wolvsies are helping Winky to be cleaning out all the leftovers," she informed her master. "They is being quite good at that, unlike some," she said, glaring at the single half-eaten biscuit on Harry's plate. "They is not having to be told to eat more," she sniffed, then popped out.

Harry guiltily picked up his biscuit and took another bite, ignoring Jacob's snickers. "You'll find the bond cuts both ways," he said, taking another cookie as both his husband and mediwitch glared at him. "All right, I'm eating another one! Happy?"

Poppy smiled serenely and put a third biscuit on Harry's plate before turning to her young protégé. "Terry, there's really no need for you to return to St. Mungo's for the last few weeks of the program. I'll talk with the administration, and sign your certificate myself, if I have to. Once the situation is explained to them…."

"Explained to them? Explain what? That I'm in a soul bond with what they consider to be a dark creature? I'll never get any kind of position like that!" Terry raged.

"Not in wizarding Britain, no," Harry said calmly. "Here in America," he shrugged. "I doubt very seriously it will be an issue."

"The Rez could use you full-time," Jacob said thoughtfully. "Especially if you were a regular MD, as well. That way, you'd be able to see the entire Tribe, not just the shifters and their families."

"I'll cover your expenses, and provide a stipend, so that's not an issue," Harry said. "No, no objections, Terry. It's not like I can't afford it, and like Jacob said, you're family now. Besides," the wizard grinned. "I figure that in a few years, you'll be busy treating a bunch of Potter-Blacks. If I can get my husband to cooperate, that is," he leered at the large man in question.

"If you weren't already pregnant, I'd show you 'cooperation', " Jacob growled back.

Poppy Pomfrey shook her head at their antics, while Terry Boot buried his head in his hands and cursed his fate…and wondered whether he did indeed want to be a Huskie, a Beaver, or a Duck.

* * *

To absolutely no one's surprise, Leah was completely impossible to live with for the next several days. She refused to shift, and even refused to speak to any of the Pack. Finally, almost a week after 'that day', Sam and Jacob went to her house, dragged her out kicking and screaming, and brought her to where a very ill-appearing Terry Boot was waiting in Harry and Jacob's living room.

One look at the haggard man had Leah flying across the room to him. "What have you done to him?" she demanded, glaring at Harry while Sam, Seth and Jacob blocked the exits.

"It's what you've done to him, not me, and you know it," Harry answered calmly. "I haven't been the one staying too far away from my imprint."

Leah just snarled at him before turning all her attention to Terry. "I don't even know your name," she spat. Then, she began caressing his forehead.

"It's Terry…Leah. My…Leah," he sighed. "Terry Boot, late of London, m'lady," he managed, before he sagged into her arms.

"Why don't we all sit down and have tea? I'll have Winky bring us some sandwiches, while we're at it," Harry suggested.

* * *

Ultimately, Terry decided to take Harry up on his offer of a room at Potter-Black Manor, saying it "wouldn't be proper" for him to stay at the Clearwater's until "after the ceremony". Leah had been angry at his assumption that they would be married until a confused, hurt Terry confessed to her that he really had no idea how these things were done but never intended any insult or harm. After that, the two began talking much more openly, which made everyone's life easier.

When Terry proposed to Leah on bended knee, the young woman broke down and cried tears of happiness…and then chased the eavesdropping Pack members around the house for an hour while Terry sat on the porch, smiling and drinking tea with Harry. Leah then dragged Terry back to her home and into her bedroom. Seth reported that immediately thereafter all sounds coming from the room cut off, so there were no juicy stories to tell. Jacob's only comment was "at least somebody remembers the silencing charms." He got his head smacked for that.

Leah, Terry and Harry had a private conversation the next day, and when Leah shifted shortly thereafter, the Pack discovered that her memories of her time with Terry were blocked, just like Jacob's memories of his intimate moments with Harry. Jacob and Leah patrolled together that day, because everyone else refused to put up with their smug laughter.

The ceremony itself was small and elegant. Once again Esme and Harry cooked (Harry did very little except sit in a chair in the kitchen and peel things while Winky and Esme did the actual cooking) and Alice pressed every available male into service as workers. Terry hadn't batted an eye when introduced to the Coven, explaining to Harry later "honestly, old boy, after a pregnant man and a tribe of shapeshifters, a vampire coven is small potatoes." A few friends had portkeyed in, mostly Ravenclaws, and all of the guests had been quietly shocked that Lord Potter-Black stood as the groom's best man. The photos ran in the _Quibbler_, along with an extensive article about the bride and groom and their good friends the Potter-Blacks. Luna claimed she was only there in her capacity as a reporter, which absolutely no one believed.

Neville, Hannah and Professor Flitwick made no bones about the fact that they just wanted an excuse to come see Harry and Jacob, and also to wish Terry and Leah all the best. Bella and Edward didn't come, to everyone's great relief. Rosalie nursed a blood pop throughout the ceremony and left right after the ceremony.

The _Prophet_ ran an editorial bemoaning the loss of such a promising young healer to the wilds of the American West, and predicted that Healer Boot would be cut down in a gunfight within the fortnight.

The Boots returned to London for their honeymoon, and used the time there to get Terry moved to the States. Terry had no family to speak of in England; his parents had been early targets of the Death Eaters. They'd left him a small inheritance and a bit of property, which needed managing. At Harry's suggestion, Terry retained Eddie Spindle, and the tubby solicitor worked his usual magic to arrange for the sale of the properties and transfer of Terry's funds from Gringotts to an American wizarding and muggle bank.

To Healer Boot's great surprise, he was allowed to complete his training at St. Mungo's early, and presented with his Healer's Certification in a small ceremony at the hospital. Leah stood there smiling as her new husband was lauded as one of the most promising young healers the hospital had seen in many years.

Harry read the statement from Eddie Spindle about the amount of the 'generous contribution' an 'anonymous donor' had made to St. Mungo's, shrugged and put it in the 'money well spent' file. He'd have paid ten times that amount just to see Leah smile the way she did on her wedding day. Besides, family was family, and now his family had their own personal healer.

The Boots returned from London loaded down with gifts and good memories to find their wedding present from Harry and Jacob Potter-Black ready for them. (The food processor really didn't count.) Once again, the Quileute contractor was called upon, and a minor construction miracle was worked using buckets of Harry's money and supernaturally strong construction workers. The substantial 'speedy completion bonus' Harry payed to both contractor and crew probably didn't hurt, either.

The modest three-bedroom home was midway between the Rez's central area and the Potter-Black property, convenient to both but still private. It was fully furnished thanks to Alice, and came complete with a pair of Winky-selected and -approved house elves. With the judicious use of notice-me-not and muggle repellant charms Terry could apparate to and from classes in Seattle without raising any suspicious whatsoever. He'd be spending two to three years 'commuting' as an undergraduate before applying to the University of Washington's Medical School.

Leah was struck speechless by the house when she saw it. The hugs she gave Jacob and Harry left cracked ribs, which Terry mended on the spot. That alone (the speechlessness and the hugs, not the cracked ribs) made every dollar money well spent.

The change in both Leah and Terry Boot over the next few weeks was amazing. Leah's broken heart mended quickly under Healer Boot's gentle ministrations, causing tremendous improvement in her moods and behavior. In Terry's case, the bookish Ravenclaw had never had that much experience with the opposite sex, preferring his studies to more social pursuits. He wasn't ugly by any means, but a few weeks with Leah saw him standing straighter and adopting a more confident poise that went well with Leah's new smile. The couple radiated happiness and satisfaction so powerfully they started to turn heads whenever they strolled down the streets of Forks or Seattle.

Leah even let herself be kidnapped for a shopping expedition with Alice, Rosalie and Esme. The three vampires claimed it was a belated wedding present, which gave them an excuse to wear the numbers off yet another set of credit cards. Leah returned with a complete new wardrobe for herself and her new husband. Terry later told Harry he'd been threatened with dismemberment if he didn't magically expand their closets to satisfy Leah and the Three Evil Women. Of course, the way he smirked when he said it led Harry to believe that Terry might actually enjoy said 'dismemberment'. Not satisfied with improving his looks, Leah took it upon herself to reintroduce Terry to the 'Joys of Normal Life', and even threatened to drag Harry and Jacob out clubbing with them…once Harry wasn't quite so pregnant, of course.

* * *

Harry was surprised one afternoon when Leah strode into his study. None of the Pack seemed to understand the concept of 'knock first', but Leah wasn't usually a solo visitor.

"Harry, do you have a minute?" Leah asked.

"Certainly, Leah; come in. Would you like something to drink?" Harry turned in his chair but didn't stand up; he was eight months along and 'great with child'. He felt like a bloated whale, and was just about ready for his pregnancy to be over.

"No, thanks," Leah waved off his offer and sat down. "I just want to thank you for all you've done for us," she said softly. "Not just for me and Terry, but…all of us."

"Leah, it's nothing, really…" Harry began.

"No, don't say that! It's not 'nothing'!" Leah snapped, before sighing. "I'm sorry. No, it's not 'nothing'," she repeated, her gaze intense. "You've done more for this Pack…hell, the whole damn tribe, and the Cullens, too!...than you'll ever know. I know if you hadn't come here, Terry and I would never have met, and…." the tall woman looked away.

"I take it your marriage is going well," Harry quipped, giggling a bit when Leah blushed and nodded. "If I told you I understood completely, would you believe me?"

"Yeah, I guess you would, wouldn't you?" Leah grinned.

"Better than anyone else on the planet," Harry grinned back. "You do realize that both of our husbands have a good thing going, don't you?"

"Damn straight!" Leah burst out laughing. "Both of our husbands! So, I guess that makes you…."

"Eight months pregnant, and that great thumping prat Jacob is already talking about the next one," Harry huffed.

Leah only laughed louder at that. "Having it, or making it?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed, laughing with her as they shared the joke.

"Terry says he's using contraceptive charms," Leah said, when they'd calmed down. "He wants to wait before we start our own family."

"There's really no hurry. Wizards live a long time, and as long as you keep shifting…." Harry said.

"That's just it," Leah said, becoming somber. "I know I won't be able to shift while I'm pregnant…at least, I don't think I want to even try, because of what it might do to the baby…" she paused, searching for the right words.

"That's probably wise, but your husband the healer can tell you better than I," Harry said gently.

"I know, it's just…." Once again, she paused, then went on. "I don't think I want to wait. Is that…going to hurt Terry? When I tell him I want to start a family?"

Harry sat there, his face blank, until Leah began to shift in her chair. Finally, he answered her softly. "Terry wants to finish his education, and that will be very difficult, even for someone as smart as he is. But, I know he loves you very much, and the bond will ensure that he never considers any other woman as the mother of his children."

"I know, it's just…" Leah sighed, not able to finish the thought out loud.

"Leah, I think you and Terry need to have a long, honest discussion about…all of your future plans. If there's screaming and yelling, well, fine; either of you can sleep over here rather than that monstrous couch Alice put in your living room. The bond will see to it that you get back together soon. And, the make up sex is usually…well, let's just say that it's almost good enough to make you pick a fight, just so you can make up." Harry wiggled his eyebrows comically, and Leah giggled before she realized it. "Don't worry," the very pregnant wizard went on, waving his hand at the shifter. "Whether or not you have your first kid in one year or ten years, you'll both still have decades to annoy the hell out of them. And mine," he added.

"You sound like I'm going to have a litter," Leah groused, but Harry knew her heart wasn't really in it. The gleam in her eyes when she talked about having a child was a dead giveaway.

"Well, it takes seven to field a Quidditch team, and unless we get a few witches in here for the rest of the Pack to imprint on, it's all up to you and me," he smirked.

"Seven, huh? Well, I guess I'd better go speak with my husband. Otherwise, Team Potter-Black will have too much of a head start on Team Boot." She stood, then stepped over and hugged Harry gently. "Thanks, Harry. For everything," she whispered, then stood and left with a wave.

"Team Boot? Team Potter-Black? Where in Merlin's name did that come from?" Harry asked the room, before shaking his head and turning back to his paperwork.

* * *

"Sit down, Jacob; you're going to wear the floor out," Billy Black snapped at his nervously pacing son.

"Shut it, Grandpa," the tall shifter growled back. "They've been in there for almost an hour. Something could have gone wrong, and…."

"Nothing's gone wrong, they're just taking their time getting started," Alice Cullen smiled up at the tall young man. "Harry and the baby will be fine," she said with the absolute conviction of a seer. "You'll just have to wait a bit longer to see him. Both hims," she corrected herself.

"There's several centuries of experience in that room, not to mention two of the best young medical men in the world," Jasper Cullen said patiently. He nursed his fresh blood pop for a moment, then went on. "I seriously doubt there's anything they can't handle, up to and including demonic possession or alien babies."

"You watch way too much TV, did you know that?" Leah laughed. "Jacob, Alice's visions haven't been wrong yet. It'll be fine."

"I know, it's just…" Jacob blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. "It's Harry, and the baby, you know? Even with Terry, and Carlisle, and Poppy and Draco in there…there's a risk with every pregnancy, and…"

"And you can't protect them from it, and it's driving you crazy." Sam finished the thought for him.

"And you're driving us crazy, so I guess it all works out," Seth quipped, then ducked his sister's hand. "What?" he complained.

Winky popped in with yet another platter full of sandwiches. "Master Jakey Sir is needing to be sitting down and not be wearing himself out being worried. Winky is bringing more sandwiches for everyone." The redoubtable elf sat down the platter and disappeared.

"That elf is the smartest one in this house," Paul said, reaching for a sandwich.

"You just love her because she always feeds you," Seth snickered.

"She always feeds all you mutts," Emmett laughed.

"Shut it, leech. Want me to take you outside and teach you some manners?" Paul growled.

"Say the word, puppy. Just let me get a newspaper to roll up first," Emmett snarled back.

"Children," Esme's voice was calm, but everyone subsided when she spoke. "You boys can play in the mud later, but right now we're waiting to see the new baby."

The women in the room all snickered at that, while the males all pretended to glare at one another. Random small talk and snacking went on for another few minutes, and then the door to the 'surgery'—the extra large room Harry originally had no idea what to do with—opened. Harry had insisted, and Terry and Carlisle had signed off, on a home delivery, close to everyone who wanted to be there for the birth.

Poppy Pomfrey stepped out holding a small bundle. "Jacob," she said. "There's someone here who wants to meet you." The nurse's smile would have brightened a coal mine.

Jacob froze in place when the door opened, but he covered the distance to the mediwitch in two steps. "Is Harry…" he asked, terrified of what she might say.

"He's fine; Terry and Carlisle are finishing up now. You can see him in just a moment. For now," she paused, then offered the child to his father, "you can hold your son."

Jacob took the bundle as if it was the most fragile thing in the world and looked down, awestruck. There in the blanket, a tiny face scrunched up its nose at him, tiny hands waving aimlessly. Wisps of black hair stuck out from underneath a blue knit cap, and the child's russet skin matched his own.

"Hey there," Jacob whispered. "I'm your papa." Soft grunting answered him.

Turning, Jacob stepped over to his father's wheelchair. "Dad, I'd like you to meet your grandson, William James Potter-Black." He held the bundle out. Billy took it reverently.

"Hello, young man," the Quileute elder whispered. "Welcome to your tribe. We've all been waiting to see you…"

THUMP!

Billy looked up to see his son on the floor at his feet. "What? What is it?" he barked, sheltering his grandson with his arms and body.

"It's nothing, Billy," Leah said, putting a calming hand on the old man's shoulder. "Jacob just fainted."

* * *

Harry floated in a sea of hazy thoughts and sensations. Slowly, he felt himself returning to mostly-full consciousness. The first thing he noticed was fingers running through his hair.

"Mmm…Jacob," he murmured, then felt his husband's lips press against his forehead.

"Hello, beautiful," Jacob's deep voice poured into his ears. Harry forced his eyes open and saw his husband's face hovering over his own.

"Hello, you," Harry sighed. "The baby…?"

"He's beautiful, and perfect, just like his mommy," Jacob kissed Harry's forehead again. "Dad is out there telling him the legend of the first Quileute shifter."

"I don't think he'll remember it," Harry laughed, then sneezed. "I smell dittany."

"We put an extra bit on your incision," Draco's voice came from somewhere in the room. "There will be a small scar, but it shouldn't be noticeable."

"Mmph," Harry made a noncommittal noise. He'd known he'd have a scar, but caesarian section beat the alternative rout of male delivery. Plus, it was much safer for the baby.

"Harry, everything went well." Terry Boot was standing on the other side of the bed from Jacob, and Harry thought he was smiling. His surgical gown was spattered with blood and other fluids, but Harry knew that any birth was ultimately a bloody, slimy mess. "You're fine, the baby's fine, and your husband revived immediately with a whiff of smelling salts," he went on. "I didn't even have to _Enervate_ him."

"Jacob…wha…?" Harry struggled to focus. Draco's sedation potion was certainly doing its job.

"Your child was so beautiful I passed out," Jacob grinned. He knew he'd catch hell for fainting later, but was too happy to care.

"Your child too," Harry insisted, somehow managing to get his hand up for Jacob to hold. "He's beautiful?"

"Just like you," Jacob repeated, giving Harry's hand a gentle squeeze. "Draco's starring daggers at me, so I need to let you sleep now. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"M'fine. Sleepy…." Harry murmured, then let himself sink back into the haze. His son. _ Their _son. Fine...

**FINIS**

**A/N:** And thus, we've come full circle, and the story ends. Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! Yes, there are more side stories to be told in this universe; whether or not I'm the one who tells them remains to be seen. This story began as a quick three or four thousand word idea about the birth of Harry and Jacob's first child, but then I realized that I needed to write a few scenes about how their relationship developed. So, 'a few scenes' turned into the story you've just read.

There is at least one more story already written; I'll be posting it in another day or so. It's about Scorpius Malfoy and...well, if I told you any more it'd spoil the surprise, now wouldn't it? Look for 'Scorpius Malfoy and the..."

And, if any omakes happen to make their way to my mailbox...who knows?


	6. Chapter 6

A sequel to this story, "Scorpius Malfoy and the Unwanted Attraction" is up, and may be found through my profile.


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